Xion Island Carrier: Chapter 19

It was Tuesday, not that it mattered with working turnaround shifts, but Tuesdays were difficult to feel thrilled about. They should come with a free biscuit. The rain hit Barrow sideways, slapping the windows as if it had a point to make. And it did. Even the weather was asking what the hell happened to the tradition of four seasons. Nash was in the incident room, watching clouds fold over the coast through the little bit of the channel he could see from the back of the station. He wondered if human extinction began with bloodlines.

Seventeen outbreaks. One confirmed in Spain after Damon Taylor took his family on holiday. He hadn’t known the woman working in Barcelona, but he infected her before he was taken ill. It was a chance meeting over cheese in a delicatessen. Her parents were ex-pats, very distant relatives, but Damon didn’t know that. Nash smiled at the thought of him asking for a family discount, if he did.

The world was catching up to what he already knew, and reacting as he feared it would. The headlines on his desk screamed at him:

MYSTERY DEATHS LINKED ACROSS THE UK.

BARROW’S GHOST PLAGUE: WHAT ARE THEY HIDING?

FIRST DEATH IN SPAIN: GLOBAL SPREAD?

And, there was Jonas Scott, the local reporter who’d made it his mission to hound Nash whenever a story broke. The latest email blinked on his screen:

Subject: Urgent press enquiry – dead woman, council cover-up. Your move, Nash.

He went on to write: We have credible reports that Iris Taylor was murdered and that her name matches those on your outbreak victim list. Confirm or deny. The public deserves the truth.** Pompous little tosser. Nash didn’t answer it. He knew the value of letting a vulture circle before smashing its wings.

‘Have you heard about Iris Taylor?’ Brown asked, coming into the incident room like a hurricane.

Nash didn’t move. ‘Not if it’s come in during the last five minutes.’

‘She’s linked to the outbreaks,’ Brown said.

Nash turned from the window fast enough to give himself whiplash. ‘That can’t be right. It doesn’t fit the MO. Our boy’s been calculated. He doesn’t function on his emotions. And none of the victims were called Taylor.’

‘Whether it fits or not, it’s true. It pinged on the AncesTree site this morning as one of those relative hints. Phil’s run her DNA, and we’re waiting for confirmation, but she’s a second cousin of Alison McAlister’s mother.’

Nash sat down. ‘I need to think about this. What’s our guy playing at? Rage doesn’t gel with his psych profile. He’s cold, always methodical, and he works without emotion. He doesn’t operate like this. God help us. I think there might be two of them.’

‘Maybe, but that’s not all. We cross-referenced her maiden name—Shenton. She’s on our original extended family map, buried under a married alias. She had one son and lived alone. I tell you, boss, I can recite the entire family tree in my sleep.’

Nash swore under his breath. Having one contained family was good, but the sheer numbers from that single strain were terrifying. And nobody knew if it could pass to other people as it evolved. It was an unknown quantity.

‘It’s a bloody hit list,’ Brown said.

‘It’s not food. It’s family,’ Nash muttered. ‘That was the first message from Max.’ And in that second, he knew what it meant. ‘Jesus Christ, Molly.’ He slammed his hand down on the table, making her jump. Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? It was so obvious. ‘Our guy is one of them. He’s related. Check every bloody list you’ve got and find him.’

‘Oh bollocks. This is messed up shit. I’m on it,’ Brown said, already out of the door and barking orders at the team. Nash looked at the incident map, and saw bloodstains in the markers.  

The phones were melting from the heat of public horror. They hadn’t released the fact that only one bloodline seemed to be susceptible to the contagion. People were scared. Council officials demanded daily updates. And Nash’s special ops team were working closely with the FBI to contain both the outbreaks and rising hysteria on the streets.

The contagion started in Barrow, so it was a natural selection as the headquarters. The Travelodge in Barrow had been commandeered as a makeshift quarantine site. It hadn’t seen this much drama since the Elvis convention of 2018. As it was out of season, they were able to block-book three-quarters of the rooms. They would house any remaining family members who’d tested negative anywhere in the country. Spain, and the rest of the world, could deal with their own problems; there was only so much they could do when a killer was watching and the next name on the wall hadn’t stopped breathing yet.

The rationale was containment. The reality was to get them all in one place where they could keep an eye on the buggers. A chilling thought occurred to Nash that the killer might be among the family strain arriving and being allocated their rooms. He spoke to DS Lewis. ‘I need in-depth reports on every guest we book in. If they’ve had a parking ticket, I want to know about it. And I want 24/7 patrols on every corridor.’

‘”Contain it where it started,” the FBI bigwig said, as if the town could be zipped up like a holdall and hidden from the world.

Bob Fendt, who was taken on secondment from the NHS, had been put in charge of the medical team on site. He was competent, kindly, and appalled by the situation.

Keeley and Brown had been tracing family members across the country for the past seventy-two hours. Some of them came willingly, frightened and wanting to be with others like them. They didn’t know they were related to every person in the catchment group. Others had to be brought in by force and screamed about human rights. Let them yell, Nash thought, at least they weren’t puking everywhere. Not yet. Those who didn’t show symptoms were corralled in the Travelodge, where Bob and his selected team of professionals administered checks and handed out thermometers like marketing flyers.

Keeley Norton hadn’t stopped to eat. Her fingers trembled as she turned from her computer, the breath caught in her throat. The way the day had collapsed on top of her with the noise, the pressure, and the scale of it made her retreat behind her default sharp edges.

She stood up to check a point she’d read in one of the files, and the world turned inside out. She clutched the corner of her desk and watched dark smudges move inwards from the peripheral edges of her vision. She was going to faint and leaned over, gulping in air.

Molly Brown noticed.

‘Hey,’ Brown said, appearing beside her, holding a mug. ‘I knew you were struggling, so I made you this. Drink it.’

Keeley straightened but didn’t let go of the desk. Her other hand groped for her office chair, and Brown wheeled it behind her just in time.  

‘I’m okay.’

‘No, you’re not. Take it.’

 Norton eyed the mug and wrinkled her nose. ‘Is it poisoned?’

‘Shit. I missed a trick.’ Molly handed her the cup of ginger tea—strong, sharp, and exactly what Keeley didn’t know she needed.

‘Thanks. I didn’t have you down as the hippy-dippy herbal type.’ Keeley said.

‘I’m not, so don’t you start any rumours. I just know that my sister swore by this stuff when she was pregnant.’

‘I’m not knocked up, just so you know.’ Keeley grinned and took a sip.

‘Pity, I could have got rid of you on maternity leave. I’ve got to ask, have you relapsed?’

‘Nothing so dramatic. I skipped breakfast and lunch.’ 

‘Good. I’ll get you a sandwich. Look. It’s a tough gig, and you’re doing okay, so don’t let this mess tell you otherwise.’

Keeley looked stunned. ‘You’re being nice.’

‘Don’t get used to it,’ Brown said, walking off.

Bowes found Keeley staring at her phone in the locker room. Nash had heard Brown tell him that Norton wasn’t so good, and she asked Bowes to check on her. Molly had a good heart, she just needed to thaw out a bit to show it.  

‘You okay?’ Bowes asked.

She nodded. ‘Just tired. We’re all stacking up the overtime.’

‘You were great with the family testing. I like how you held it together and kept everybody calm.’

‘It was like herding cats,’ she laughed.

‘Right. I was thinking, maybe, if you fancied it, we could grab a drink after work, or tomorrow if you’re still not so good. Or next year?’ He went red to the tips of his ears.

‘Jay,’ she said, ‘You’re sweet. But I’m not looking for anything like that right now.’

He smiled. ‘Of course not. It’s not like I’m into you, or anything.’ He pulled a goofy face. ‘I only wanted someone to hammer on the pool table. I get it. I’m emotional flat-pack furniture. It takes hours to work me out, and I never quite fit properly. But I’m always optimistic that I can be just the table with the wonky leg you need. Mates works for me.’

She laughed. ‘You’re one of the good guys, Bowes.’

He shrugged. ‘Good guys finish friend-zoned.’

Keeley kissed his cheek. ‘Better than messy work relationships.’

He watched her go and whispered, ‘Shit.’

 After his next meeting, Nash was in his office, bracing himself for the call he knew was coming from Bronwyn.

She didn’t waste time.

‘Nash, I need every open file cleared by Friday. And I mean all of them.’

‘We’re on the verge of identifying a targeted biogenetic killer, Bron. I’m not spreading my team too thin.’

‘The PM is pressing the big guns for answers. You’ll get the support you need, but the public is killing us. We’re getting close to lockdown protests again. Clear the noise and get the case solved.’

Nash hung up before he said something he’d regret.

By nightfall, they were well into another double shift, and the updated team map was up.

Iris Taylor’s photograph joined the board. Brown circled her name in red.

‘Connected and confirmed.’ The marker screeched as she wrote her spoken words. And next to her name, underlined in black ink, it said: Homicide.

Nash stared at it, the knot in his chest tightening. He still didn’t like the change in MO. Their killer was on the edge.

Xion Island Carrier is book 6 in the DCI Nash series. They're all on KU. Hush Hush Honeysuckle is Book One, and this is the Amazon link.

 

https://books2read.com/u/4EB0zg