In The End Box Set | Books 1-3 Stevens, GJ (story books to read TXT) 📖

“Really?” came a female voice, and I turned to see a woman, her hair silver white, green eyes fixed intent on mine.

Cassie walked by her side from the direction of the other door whilst straightening her clothes with her face full of alarm.

“Where are they?” the woman asked, stepping into my personal space.

I could feel electricity crackle off her words, my blood rushing with panic as if I'd just made a big mistake.

65

“Can you help us or not?” I asked, stepping back.

Her feet stayed put as she leaned forward, her unblinking eyes fixed with an intensity which made me want to turn and run the other way.

I didn't run. I didn't turn away; instead, I took a step forward and spoke again. “I need to speak to someone in charge, or we're leaving.”

“You are,” the woman said, the wrinkles on her facing relaxing. Her stare dissipated as she took a step back, her hand pushing out and lips curling in a forced smile.

“I'm Doctor Lytham. I apologise for our introduction. I'm sure you can understand we're still finding our feet here.”

I squinted towards her, but Cassie seemed to shake her head.

“What is this place? Why weren't you evacuated?” I said.

A panicked scream raced across my nerves. Cassie's gaze caught mine as we twisted to the room I'd just left.

The soldier standing at the door hadn't reacted. He was left unmoved as the sound died. Only then did he raise his eyebrows, asking the doctor a question without words.

Turning back, her face hadn't changed, her arm sweeping out to guide us down the white corridor. Her head gave the smallest of shakes, dismissing the guard's unvoiced question.

She turned and walked down the corridor, her heels clicking along the hard floor.

“What are they doing to him?” I asked, my voice more urgent. Cassie was already following. I hurried behind, despite my instinct to get clear of this place; I would not leave her with this woman who reminded me so much of Cruella De Vil.

Every few steps, the antiseptic smell built, the taste coating my tongue as we passed door after door, each with a porthole window painted white.

We rounded a corner to find it much the same, with two guards stood either side, their backs to us. As we passed to the click of her heels, I turned back to see neither of the soldiers would meet my gaze.

“Did you work at the hospital before?” I asked, as I hurried to catch up.

She turned, smiling high with her cheeks, her head shaking.

“There wasn't a great call for my specialism in this corner of Cornwall.”

“What specialism is that?” I asked, walking fast to stay alongside.

“Let's call it tropical diseases,” she said, giving me the least reassuring smile.

“Is it or not?” I said.

Looking across Cassie I saw her worried expression, then turned to the doctor, whose forced smile was back again. Her eyebrows raised.

“I'm seconded to Public Health England. We're trying to understand the outbreak.”

“And find an antidote, a cure?” I said, my voice rising with excitement.

“Is it a tropical disease?” Cassie butted in from my side.

“Yes,” she said in my direction and turned to Cassie, repeating the same.

“Have you found a cure?” I asked. “Please, if you have, we need your help.”

Approaching a double door on the right, she stopped, pushing both open and holding them wide.

A few steps inside, a clear plastic sheet with a zipper in the middle separated us from two figures in white plastic suits covering them entirely. Around their waists were white belts, a holster each side. In the left holster sat the yellow of a Taser, in the right the black of a pistol.

Beyond the guards, a long hospital ward stretched out, with ten beds on either side. In each bed lay a patient with reddening bandages on either their arms, legs or faces. At least two protective white suits busied around every one of them, changing bandages, drawing blood or pushing buttons on a bedside display which looked much like those on an A&E ward.

Watching in silence, we listened to the buzz of activity, which was broken only by the sudden shrill of an alarm.

We were drawn to the raise of a white-gloved hand. The suit stood at the middle right-hand bed. The two guards stepped from their post, each drawing their Tasers. A suit hurried from the other side of the room, holding a red liquid-filled syringe.

“Now for your answers,” Doctor Lytham said, letting the doors swing closed. “We have promising lines of evaluation, but we haven't found a cure.”

After following a few steps down the corridor, she opened another door and ushered us into an office. White packing crates lined the walls. Many were closed, but most were open, their contents spread across the two sturdy wooden desks in the centre of the room.

“We've isolated the disease to a new species of the Ophiocordyceps genus,” she said, as she offered the two empty seats on the nearest side of the desk.

We sat as she took one of the two empty seats the other side.

“I don't know if that means anything to either of you?” she said, her cheeks bunched in expectation.

“Zombie ants,” I said.

She raised her eyebrows and slowly nodded.

“Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis,” she replied. “Could we use you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Cassie turned like I'd been keeping something from her, like we'd known each other for years and she was only now finding out I had some hidden depth. It was getting harder to remember we'd known each other for less than a day.

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I watch a lot of documentaries.”

The doctor's shoulders deflated.

“We're calling it Ophiocordyceps Sapien, for obvious reasons.”

Cassie looked