Xion Island Zero: Chapter 39

The smell hit Nash. It made his throat close. His eyes watered. Then it twisted, punching him in the throat. It was acrid and human. The stench raged through both nostrils and sat on the back of his tongue, a blend of shit, vomit, blood, stale sweat, and something that seemed organic and wrong. It was like meat, left in the sun for a week.

The cabin was dingy, lit by a couple of candles, the fire and an oil lamp hanging from a hook in the ceiling, but none of them were competent enough to battle through the gloom. The fire threw shadows across the walls, painting the internal horror in sepia tinged with orange.

Alan Taylor slumped against a central support beam. He was bound with a cruel rope that cut into his skin. His face was swollen and bruised, the right side sculpted dark with old blood. One eye was crusted shut. His body sagged as he’d given up trying to hold himself upright.

He’d soiled his pants. The stench of diarrhoea leaked from his ruined clothes, and a rusting bucket sat at his feet, half-filled with yellow bile and bloodied mucus.

It showed Nash that it wasn’t fresh; he’d been vomiting for hours, if not days. His right hand was bleeding, and Nash turned away from the bloody stump where his finger had been. No amount of experience could have prepared him for this.

If the monster let him, he’d go to Alan to try and help him, but he needed a second to cope before he’d be any use. He let his nose acclimatise and battled the rising bile, forcing it back by swallowing hard.

‘You took your time,’ Travis Bernstein’s voice came from the corner. ‘He’d have all of his fingers and fewer wounds if it wasn’t for you.’

He stepped into the lamplight, flushed with mania. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his skin shimmered with sweat. Nash fixed on Travis Bernstein’s eyes. They gleamed with feverish madness.

‘What have you done?’ Nash said, moving to Alan.

A shiver skittered under Nash’s collar. It itched the base of his neck, and he swatted it instinctively. Max’s voice and warning returned to him. ‘He walks through the forest every night.’ Nash pushed the memory away. He had no time for distraction.

‘You won’t find the tick,’ Travis replied. ‘It moved on after it infected him and fed. It’s gone. Maybe it died. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Tick?’ Nash said, but he didn’t wait for an answer as Alan moved, giving the first indication that he was alive. He stirred. A moan broke the barrier of his battered mouth, and a bubbling cough followed that left pink foam running down his chin.

‘I need to get him out of here,’ Nash said. ‘You can still help him. It’s not too late to do the right thing. They have antivirals and plasma treatments at Porton Down.’ He knew it was useless, Bernstein was almost dead, but he had to try.

Travis laughed, and the sound was unhinged. ‘Of course it’s too late. You know it, I know it, and best of all, he knows it.’ He kicked Alan in the side with the toe of his boot, and Nash winced as Alan gave a weak moan. ‘He’s not sick. He’s transformed.’

‘Into a corpse with additional bonus features?’

‘On the contrary. It’s beautiful the way the body turns on itself. His stomach lining is bursting and peeling away like the skin of an overripe plum as his lungs are dissolving. The blood is losing its purpose. It’s not a disease, it’s an intricate and beautiful design.’

‘Travis. We’ve spoken to your employers. They talk very highly of you. Mr White said you were brilliant and a leader in your field of genetics. But you aren’t well. Listen to yourself. With your intelligence and background, you can take a step back and examine your actions with an analytical perspective. You can reason and evaluate your state of mind as well as I can. You need help.’

‘No. This had to happen. My revenge is flawless. But you glossed over the best bit with a murmur, and not an ounce of humour. Has anybody ever pointed out to you that you’re dry, Nash?’

‘Indeed,’ Nash said dryly.

‘You wanted to know how it spreads? The tick, I mentioned? This is where my genius comes in. I used the Lone Star tick, and she’s special. This lady’s a hunter, the only one of her genus. The species is a predator. She’s unlike any other tick. The rest are parasites. They find a host, hang on, gorge, drop off, and die. But not my Lone Star beauty. She has eyes. Did you know that, Nash? She watches you.’

Nash felt his skin crawl as if a thousand insects marched on him. He looked around, his eyes scanning the corners of the hut. A scratching noise came from the ceiling—or maybe from inside the walls—or maybe, he imagined it. He couldn’t be sure. He thrust the feeling aside and tried to help Alan. The hostage was naked to the waist, with horrible injuries that broke up and wept as the disease rotted his body, causing devastating necrosis. He was a living microcosm of decay.

Nash untied him, and Alan slumped onto his side. The knots were tight, and like wounds he was reopening. He found a filthy rag with remnants of duct tape attached to it. It was rancid, and he could tell it’d been used as a gag. He shuddered and didn’t want to touch it. Despite it being about as sterile as Anthrax, he soaked it with water from a bottle and ineffectively dabbed at the worst of Alan’s wounds to try and bring him some relief.

‘There’s an ambulance outside and this man is going in it,’ Nash said.

‘No, he isn’t.’

Travis watched them with an expression of curiosity, as though he was studying a family of mountain gorillas grooming each other. He shrugged and resumed his speech. ‘I had six original ticks,’ Travis said. ‘All female and each one gravid. In layman’s terms, for your pea-brain, that means that they were gestating live eggs. I injected them with the engineered virus. I think we can agree that when the powers that be release this weapon, it will be devastating.’

The horror of his words barely sank in. Nash’s focus was entirely on Alan, but he recoiled as the enormity of what Travis said infiltrated his mental overload. ‘Thanks for the entomology lecture. Did you want me to take notes?’

 Travis was proud and ignored his slur. ‘I recoded the serum so that the virus would only affect one strain. Then I added the particular DNA strand belonging to my bloodline.’

Nash couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But this was real.  

‘They did the work. And now thousands more are hatching, dotted around the country. If one of my wretched relatives escaped, well, so what? My legions will find them.’

Nash checked Alan’s pulse. It took him a while to locate it, and it felt weak and thready. Alan’s eyes fluttered.

‘Alan, can you hear me? It’s Inspector Nash. We’re going to get you help.’

Alan tried to speak, but only blood came out.

Travis leant against the wall and slid to the floor, and Nash registered the movement but didn’t pay any attention. ‘It’s done. I’m going to let you go, Nash. But not until we’ve talked.’

‘And him?’ he asked, gesturing to Alan.

‘Forget him. He’s dead.’

‘Then let me take him out.’

‘No. I said, we talk.’

‘Okay. I’ll talk, and then you’ll let us both go?’

Travis shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he didn’t care. ‘You must have questions. Ask them.’

 Nash had a thousand, and at the same time, he couldn’t give a shit. He didn’t want to honour this animal with a second of bolstering his ego, but he had to play along. He brought his mind back to evidence. A confession wouldn’t be admissible in court, but it was still an asset to the case. ‘I don’t understand how you used DNA sequencing to isolate your genetic line.’

‘It was easy. The database gave me everything tangible that I needed. I had access to public family trees and saliva samples donated from curious hobbyists. They gave their DNA away like sweets.’

Nash tightened his grip on Alan’s arm, trying to impart a message that he was there to help. He didn’t speak.

 ‘With Xion’s lab resources, I tailored the pathogen to the genome markers unique to the Taylor line.’

‘You did this for revenge. Has it made you happier, Travis?’

Travis looked as though Nash had slapped him. He motioned to Alan. ‘He deserved it.’

Alan gave another rattling breath, and each one sounded weaker than the one before it. He blinked at Nash, as if trying to speak or apologise. Nash squeezed his shoulder. ‘I’m here,’ he whispered as if it made a shite of difference.

‘Please,’ Nash said. ‘Let me call a medic.’

Travis shook his head. ‘Why ruin the purity of death?’ He rolled his eyes, and Nash saw madness and decision-making combined behind them.

Travis stood and picked up a curved hunting knife from behind him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘You want me to dole out mercy, Nash? Watch.’

Travis crossed the space in two strides. Before Nash could move from his knees at Alan’s side, Travis kicked him in the head hard enough to knock him backwards, but not to cause him any serious damage. Alan wheezed but didn’t cry out. They were losing him.

He sat behind Alan, and as Nash watched, he settled his hostage as a virtuoso would position his cello. Alan slumped between Travis’s legs with his back against his chest. He was aware enough to see the blade as Travis drew it like a bow.

‘No,’ Nash shouted. He stood and moved towards Travis.

The killer waved the knife, making slashing motions at Nash so he couldn’t get any closer. ‘Stay back,’ he screamed.  

It happened in a second. Nash watched in horror as he met Alan’s eyes and couldn’t offer him any damned thing in the way of comfort. Alan was just awake enough to know what was happening. He gurgled, and Nash would never forget the sound.

Alan’s head lolled to the side as the blade swept across his throat in a one-swipe slash.

There was a hiss, and another wet gurgle as Travis laid his cello down on the bare floor and dropped his bow on top of the body. Blood pulsed in an arc, soaking Travis’s shirt, and Alan twitched once, then stilled. His eyes were open.

Travis sat in the spreading pool and laughed. Nash turned away.

‘You did that, Nash. Not me. You think I’m cruel? I saved him hours of agony. He should be thanking me.’

‘Am I next?’

‘I'm not going to touch you, Nash. Never was—unless you turned out to be a long-lost relative. You’re here to bear witness. I want you to see and understand my endless suffering. Your purpose is to tell the world that Laurence Taylor wasn’t a bad man. I want you to see and remember me.’

Travis wiped the blade on his jeans and leaned back against the beam. But his bravado was fading. His breath was shallow. His forehead was beaded with sweat. A tremor ran through his fingers.

Nash stared as he realised why Travis looked so feverish. It hadn’t been pronounced before; it could have been feverish excitement. But in the last few seconds, his temperature had risen, and the symptoms were visual. ‘You’re sweating. You aren’t right.’

‘Of course, I’m not right. I’m full of filthy, tainted Taylor blood. It was always meant to end with me.’

Nash’s mouth was dry.

‘But not yet.’ Travis grinned. ‘Not before we finish our conversation.’

 

Xion Island Zero 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