U.G.L.Y. Part 8

"What is going on?" I asked as I walked into the tent with Sofia to get some bandages. Both of us were oblivious to the discovery the patrol had made. Cooper followed us in and told us what had happened.

We ran into the woods with as many supplies as we could gather. The hosts were getting close very fast and before nightfall they had overrun the camp. We were safe through the night. We sat huddled in the trees, had dug makeshift fox holes and covered them with tree limbs and now waiting for the sun to rise. There was still no radio contact and the marines were getting nervous.

-To the End-.

The sun began to rise and illuminated a thick fog that had moved in. The scene was eerie, like a scene from a monster movie. By nightfall the night before, hosts had found their way to our camp and we could hear them ransacking it through the dark woods. So far they hadn't found any trace of where we had all gone and they were preoccupied for the moment.

Before leaving, Levitt had ordered the group to slaughter and stack cattle that had been grazing close to the camp. The thought was that we could keep the hosts from wandering outside the perimeter of the camp for a few hours while we got ourselves settled into positions in the trees. We had frantically dug ourselves in and burrowed down deep, like animals. The noise from the camp was terrifying through the night but as the sun rose other wildlife sounds were filling the air, washing out the sounds from the camp.

In nine hours we would have to be at the dirt airstrip at the end of the plateau. Levitt and I had determined that in order to lead the infected we would have to travel at a speed slow enough to keep them interested in following us but fast enough not to get caught. We were as ready as we were ever going to be. Now we waited for Levitt to give the signal to move.

I laid down in the dirt and looked over to my left. Sofia was sleeping for most of the night next to me. She must have been exhausted to have been able to go to sleep with the hosts so close. She was beautiful, her hair partially covered her dirt smeared face. I laid there staring at her when she opened her eyes, and stared back into mine. A light smile crossed her face. I reached over and softly kissed her lips. I felt her hand caress my cheek as she returned the kiss.

I thought about how awful these circ.u.mstances were and that we had just found each other. I supposed in the previous world we probably never would have met. But these events and how we reacted to them led us to each other and to this. It was likely our end. I regretted briefly that we would probably not live to be together, although I know it would have been spectacular.

The events that led to our meeting were born from the tragedy that led to Eve's death. As we lie there staring at each other I began to fade into a dream. The memory of her end became vivid as I dosed off to sleep.

I began to dream about the woman again, the faceless woman that I had been dreaming about over and over. Each dream had gotten more vivid, more erotic. And each time I dreamed about her I learned more about her. This time I saw her face. The dream began now as she begins to climax, my hands firmly cupping each breast as she moved her hips in a consistent rhythm, grinding hard into me. I could feel the heat deep inside of her, like hot oil covering me as she moved. I look up at what till now had been a blank face and as she screamed in ecstasy her features came into focus.

She had become the woman lying next to me in this ditch. She had become Sofia. I woke, dazed but feeling warm and comfortable. I open my eyes and looked next to me. Sofia was gone I was startled by a ma.s.sive explosion, I stood up, shaking and disoriented. I was not completely awake but I could see in the distance, flames completely engulfing of one of the vehicles. As I shook off the stupor I woke in, I began to clearly see what was happening. I don't know how long I had been asleep but now it seemed to be mid day. As the explosion died down I started to hear yelling and gun fire. Through the smoke streaming from the destroyed vehicle I could see people running.

"Duncan! Hey Doc!" Levitt came running up behind me "Its time to go. We're close enough to the pick up time to start moving towards the airfield, that is if the pickup is still on."

He grabbed my arm and dragged me towards one of the Humvee's, idling near the truck that was in flames. I jumped into the back and sat down. Looking around I couldn't see any other vehicles through the smoke. In front were two figures. I recognized the driver as Dubler, the pa.s.senger was in fatigues and wearing a scarf over their face with goggles. Dubler slammed his foot down on the accelerator, knocking me off balance, and I fell onto the floor. The pa.s.senger reached back and put a hand on my leg and then I realized that I recognized the green nail polish. Sofia was in the front of the vehicle with Dubler, she lifted her goggles and gave me look of fear mixed exhilaration.

This was enough to get me up and I stood, taking a firm hold of the grips on the .50 caliber machine gun that was mounted in the back of the vehicle. We headed fast towards the bluff overlooking the air field.

While we had been resting, the hosts had surrounded us. There were few vehicles left and many of the remaining marines were dead or had been turned. I could see just two vehicles in front of us and one behind. The Humvee behind us was overrun before it could get up to speed and in an instant it overturned in a cloud of dust, bodies thrown into the air. I could make out Cooper as she flew, head over heals into a tree.

There were thousands of hosts after us and they were moving fast. They must have moved further into the woods during the day, they were now coming out of the treeline, in front of us and to the sides.

I began firing the machine gun into the treeline, Dubler fired a handgun to the left of the vehicle and Sofia to the right with an M-16. The machine gun fire was so loud my ears rang almost continuously. The feeling was surreal, and I very much enjoyed it. My focus was on the targets, each time I fired I watched as the bursts tore hosts into pieces. It seems like there was finally the opportunity to get these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds back, to get something back from what they had taken.

Dubler whistled to get my attention, I looked at him and he pointed ahead of the vehicle. The bluff was no more than 50 yards ahead of us. I let go of the gun and crouched down between the front seats. I put my hand on Sofia's shoulder, she reached up and grabbed it, locking her fingers into mine. We held on, the road was rough now as the Humvee jumped over small dirt berms. 25 yards to go and Dubler slowed the vehicle as we approached the edge of the bluff.

We crested the hill and we could see the airfield below. I expected to see a C-130 waiting for us, engines turning, but instead there was nothing but wreckage at the bottom of the hill. Dubler slammed on the breaks and we slid for several yards before coming to a stop. At the bottom of the hill was the burning wreckage of a C-130. Something had happened and the plane that was to take us to safety had crashed on landing. Behind us we could hear the screeching of the approaching hosts, in front of us was the burning wreckage of our last hope of escape.

"f.u.c.k" Levitt, was in the lead vehicle and had stopped just short of the aircraft fire. He stood up in his Humvee and faced us. Yelling he said "Its over, there is no way back and no way forward".

He didn't look afraid at all as he talked, and I soon realized why.

"May you all find the happiness you deserve as you transition into the next life." He yelled.

Then it hit me, there was a missile coming. I looked up and saw a streak approaching us, in seconds it was close enough to see the missile's airframe. I grasped Sofia's hand, behind me I heard a screech as the hosts crested the bluff. I looked at Levitt as the missile hit between us. A bright blinding flash of white filled my eyes, then a wave of incredible heat. My skin began to burn and then darkness.

-Wake- s.

"Jusus!!" I sat upright in my bed, the sheets were soaked. I reached over to the night stand and grabbed the water bottle I keep near the bed. After taking a long draw from the bottle I glanced at the clock. 6:30, I guess that was all the sleep I was going to get. I didn't have to go to work as early as usual today but I went ahead and started my normal routine. I suited up for my daily bike ride, filled up my water bottles and chewed on some cheese.

As I started off on my normal morning route, there was something strange about how the air felt. That dream I had was so vivid it must have thrown me off a little. I rode hard up the two lane highway towards the local ski resort as the sun crested the high mountain ridges to the east. When I got to my normal turnaround point, I looked to the west and could see high clouds looming on the horizon.

I returned from my ride, showered, and ate breakfast. As I sat at the breakfast nook my mind drifted to the woman from my dream, the one who had been next to me when the blast went off, Sofia. I reflected briefly on the state my life was in at the moment, and how much a woman like that would make me feel whole again.

The thought occurred to me that I had created her from my own imaginary perfect woman, she had features that were the best parts of every woman I had been with, loved, or l.u.s.ted after. Sofia was what my mind and heart wanted to be my perfect woman. I sighed to myself and headed off to work.

The morning felt strange, and as the day went on, the feeling continued. Although nothing out of the ordinary had happened at work there was this surreal feeling all day that something was happening, or was about to happen. I sat in my office working on an a.n.a.lytic model of molecular commuting structures, and out of my window I couldn't shake the feeling that the sky looked different, like a shadow was overhanging the world. It looked like it does when there is a partial eclipse of the sun. Its sunny and bright but there seems to be a shadow hanging over everything.

I finished work and made my way to get my hot dog and beer. The day was over, but I could never shake that ominous feeling that hung on since waking from my dream.

I walked into the bar and sat on my normal stool. The bartender poured my usual and I looked up towards the TV overhanging the bar. I Joining the others at the bar in blindly staring at a silent, and very boring baseball game. Here I sat, day after day, sipping a beer from my favorite little s.h.i.t hole in town while I waited for my normal evening meal.

The bartender slid a giant hotdog with everything on it in front of me. I glanced up at the TV again to see that a news report had interrupted the game.

"CIVIL UNREST IN MAJOR US CITY"

All at once I was dizzy, as a rush of images from last nights dream flash through my head. I could hear commotion coming from the news report in the background. Stunned, I glance up to look at the screen, the camera was laying on its side, I could see the bloodied body of the female reporter. Her feet twitching, Then a screech, that high pitched screech.

"Oh s.h.i.t! The kids...................."

References.

Castillo, Joan Joseph. "Discovery of Helicobacter Pylori" 2010. Web. 11 Apr 2012. http://www.experiment-resources.com/helicobacter-pylori.html Chan, Margaret "Antimicrobial resistance in the European Union and the world" WHO. Web. 14 March 2012. 13 May 2012.http://www.who.int/dg/speeches/2012/amr_20120314/ en/index.html Cohen, Elizabeth. "Antidepressants most prescribed drugs in U.S.". 9 July 2007. Web. 13 May 2012. Antidepressants http://articles.cnn.com/2007-07-09/health/antidepressants _1_antidepressants-high-blood-pressure-drugs-psychotropic-drugs?_s=PM:HEALTH Miscellaneous NTSB Cabin Safety Recommendations. Federal Aviation Administration. 7 January 1997. Web. 13 April 2012. http://fsims.faa.gov/WDocs/Bulletins/Information %20Bulletins/PS_FSAT/K_FSAT-1997-01.htm Moss, Katie. "Antibiotic Resistance Could Bring *End of Modern Medicine" ABC News. 16 Mar 2012. Web. 22 Sep 2012 http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/health/2012/03/16/antibiotic-resistance-could-bring-end-of-modern-medicine/ Osborn, Darren. "DEADLY FUNGUS TURNS ANTS INTO ZOMBIES". 3 March 2011. Web. 13 may 2012. http://news.discovery.com/animals/ zombie-ants-fungus-amazon-110303.html Roseman, sophia., Vaillant, Marc., Pelletier-Fleury, Nathalie."Gaining insight into benzodiazepine prescribing in General Practice in France: a data-based study". 11 May 2011. BMC Family Practice. http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471- 2296/12/28 Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS). Center for Disease Control and Prevention. 3 May 2005. Web. 15 may 2012. Http://www.cdc.gov/sars/about/fs-SARS.html A PLACE OF STRANGERS.

Geoffrey Seed.

Prologue.

It will take Ella Virbalis an hour and forty minutes to get home from downtown Winnipeg where the skies are greyer than stone and there is ice in the air.

One hundred minutes. Not long. But time enough for a man to die an ugly death.

At 4 pm, Ella pulls on the green felt hat and thick woollen coat she bought last week and takes Mr Wilson's letters a stamped with the Queen of England's head a to Josie in the mail office then rides the clanking wire cage elevator to the showroom three floors below.

She leaves by the store's front entrance, waving goodbye to the salesmen amid their walnut bedroom suites and plush chesterfields, and walks head down against a biting prairie wind to the coach terminal on Graham Avenue.

There is still a moment to ring Yanis from the phone booth outside and tell him she is on her way. Yanis sounds happy enough, maybe a little tired after his shift at the railroad depot but he tells her he's OK. See you soon. That is what he says. Those are his words.

Ella joins a queue of shoppers, all wrapped tight against the weather. The Grey Goose coach draws to the sidewalk. Ella hands her ticket to the driver. She sits on her own towards the back, counting her blessings. When all is said and done, they are not doing badly. Immigrants expect to work harder than most. But getting a job as a filing clerk, even for three days a week, means they can now afford the little luxuries they had done without before. They are even having a vacation at New Year, heading south across the border to the desert sunshine of Phoenix.

She watches a few pa.s.sengers leave at the Brunkild stop. Then the coach heads out along Highway 3, cutting through the unrelieved plain of wheat which bends and sways to the ends of the curving earth.

Ella gets off on Main Street in Carman - a woman of fifty winters with the blotched pudding face of a kulak on the make and running to fat. She pa.s.ses working men coming home in heavy check shirts, parking their Buicks and Plymouths on asphalt drives where kids play ball and jays argue in the elms.

Yanis will be reading his Free Press by now...or making her coffee or digging over his vegetables in the back yard. Rosa should be home from school, too.

Ella walks up the wooden steps to her front porch, unlocks the white door, newly painted, and shouts to Yanis from the hall. He does not reply. There is no aroma of coffee brewing. And Rosa's coat is not on her peg either, though it is coming six.

She fills the kettle and switches on the electric stove. There is no need but she re-arranges the plates on the shelf above then peers over the blue gingham curtains into the yard. Yanis is nowhere to be seen. His newspaper lies folded on the kitchen table. Angry Khrushchev Warns The West. The picture of his pig's snout of a face fills her with all the fear she prayed they had escaped for ever.

Ella goes back into the hall and the connecting door to the garage. That is where Yanis must be - messing underneath the car, covered in oil, unable to hear.

The garage door is slightly open. The air comes cool to her face and smells...smells of gasoline, maple logs, paint. There is something else, too. Something unpleasant. Drains maybe. She cannot sure.

It is his slippers she sees first...her present to him last Christmas. Plaid slippers bought from Eatons. Imported all the way from England. Not cheap. Those are what she sees now - Yanis's slippers, lying untidy on the floor by an overturned crate with empty bottles of Whitehorse beer half falling out.

Ella looks up as she knows she must. And there he is - Yanis in his socks and dirty overalls, turning slowly from a rope looped round a rafter and biting into the flesh of his red raw neck. His eyes are open but blank. Urine drips from his turn-ups. He has fouled himself like a terrified child.

Ella's stomach heaves. Her hand goes to her mouth. She lurches back to the kitchen. The kettle hisses steam into the room. She pulls open a drawer and s.n.a.t.c.hes the bread knife. She hurries back to the garage and forces herself to stand on the beer crate gallows. The body sways into her, heavy like a punch bag. His stiffening hand touches the inside of her leg with grotesque intimacy. He stinks of death and s.h.i.t and she wants to vomit but has to stab and saw at the rope above his head till it frays and gives way and he crumples to the concrete like a puppet.

And in the unnatural silence of that moment she always feared might come, Ella Virbalis begins to shake uncontrollably. She is consumed by a single dread truth she must try to keep to herself like so much else in their lives.

Not in a thousand years would Yanis Virbalis have slipped a noose around his own neck. This was no suicide.

Never...never...never.

Chapter One.

*Three minutes to air, studio. Three minutes.'

Even from the gallery above, McCall sensed everyone's edginess that night a the floor manager counting down to transmission, the tech crew, the vision mixers in the director's box.

A chill of unspoken menace had blown in from the slicked black streets outside with the men now watching from the wings, jackets unb.u.t.toned and lumpy with guns. Only one person seemed unaffected a the Prime Minister herself.

Margaret Thatcher commanded the still, calm centre, waiting amid a serpent's nest of camera cables for her cue to address the nation. Barely a day before, she had stepped defiant from the ruins of the hotel where she and her cabinet were meant to die by terrorist bomb. Here was Boudicca and Joan of Arc made flesh again, gazing into her place in history, a glorious imperatrix ranged between her people and the murdering enemies within.

*Two minutes, everyone. Two minutes.'

McCall saw the Director General and two fawning BBC governors have their pa.s.ses checked by the same unsmiling Special Branch cop he tried shmoozing earlier.

*All you need to know chum is I'm the guy who shoots the guy who shoots her. Now p.i.s.s off, I'm working.'

The studio sparks glanced at the gallery clock then quickly adjusted his lighting rig. Sound wanted a final check on Thatcher's microphone for level.

*Prime Minister, would you care to say what you'll be having for supper?'

*A very large Scotch.'

*Anything else?'

*Another one, I expect.'

*That's excellent, Prime Minister. Thank you.'

McCall moved back to the control box. All the monitors displayed the same unforgiving close-up of Thatcher's avian features...the raptor's eyes, the turkey neck.

*Quiet, studio. Going in thirty seconds...'

McCall knew serious Westminster watchers who thought Margaret Thatcher alluringly s.e.xy. He didn't get it. But then, McCall had no mother so couldn't become Oedipal. His confusions were not put to bed so readily.

*...and cue Prime Minister.'

Bea was always uneasy about going into the attics of Garth Hall. The poorly lit rooms did not bother her any more than the steep stairs, though the frailties of age were taking their toll. It was more the feeling of entering a crypt, a chill reliquary where the paper remains of those long gone were slowly disintegrating into the dust of a past waiting to claim her, too. The buckets beneath the leaking roof had to be checked regularly or they would overflow and ruin the bedroom ceilings beneath. But the weather was turning dry and cold so she had nothing to empty. The gardener said they might be in for a white Christmas.

Bea paused before leaving. There was no sound save for the sigh of timbers shifting one against another under the imperceptible weight of time. Her eyes took in the silt of discarded possessions and all the pieces of furniture neither she nor Francis had wanted after they married. She opened the drawer of a heavy Edwardian sideboard and a hundred years and more of their family histories lay before her a copperplate letters of love and war, mutiny and trade, each full of hopes and plans and the scuttleb.u.t.t of daily existence. There were photographs, too, curled into tight little tubes. Bea flattened a few out, pictures of soldiers and sailors and those who would grieve when they did not come back.

But who these people were, what their lives had been, she had no notion any more. Even for her, they were just memories in the minds of those who had joined them since. Only Bea and Francis survived from their ancient lineages of warriors and adventurers and people who did their duty, whatever the cost.

After them a what? The days of their years, their pa.s.sions and secrets...all this would slip from recall and there would be no trace of their pa.s.sage to eternity.

She picked up one of the letters and its fibres fell to pieces as soft as snow. What had these ghosts left behind? Maybe a fingerprint of whoever had licked the pale red stamps in Bombay or Benares and posted their dreams across the world to the house where they were born and their spirits would return.

She thought of how little time was given, what little mark we make. Then she heard her husband shouting from downstairs.

*Bea...Bea? Where are you? Someone's stolen my keys.'

*I won't be long. Give me a moment.'

*We must lock up or else someone'll be breaking in.'

*No, Francis. No one's going to break in.'

The Prime Minister swept out of Lime Grove studios in a black Range Rover followed by another with tinted windows to hide the weaponry and field dressings inside.

A researcher suggested a drink. McCall said he was whacked. This had been a long day. They all were. But for reasons he could not fully explain, he felt an almost agoraphobic paranoia about being in a public place that night. It had struck him before, working in the tribal enclaves of Northern Ireland where all was tear gas and hatred and no one knew when the next car bomb would fill the gutters with blood and gla.s.s and waste. He wanted only to feel safe this night. And to lie with Evie.

He drove across London to the garden flat in Highgate he had not visited for weeks. Never phone, never ask, never tell a that was their arrangement.

They had met in a bar, strangers adrift and remaindered for reasons the other did not need to know. He was not required to send flowers or give presents and Evie never questioned whether he had other such comfort women or not. Neither felt bad about using the other.

All life becomes a convenience eventually...something warm, something sweet, something to take away the bitterness of what happens. Everyone needs that. But how to keep it? That was a trick McCall had yet to learn.

He parked the Morgan and crossed the street. Evie's light was on. He pictured her dresser and its blue and white plates, the antique sycamore table scrubbed till the grain stood proud. Her bed was bra.s.s and iron with a hard mattress and soft pillows. She answered his knock in her dressing gown. Her eyes took a moment to smile.