‘Freya Harper! Present yourself to the guards at the front of the enclosure, now!’
She jerked awake as someone grabbed her shoulder and shook her. ‘They’re calling you, Freya!’
She blinked sleep out of her eyes. Through the tall, barred window she could see it was still dark outside. Every now and then slashes of light swung across the high corrugated iron ceiling of the old tobacco warehouse as a spotlight was swept along the outside of the building.
The announcement came across the PA speakers again, distorted, echoing, shrill, and now beginning to awake and annoy everyone inside. People were sitting up, groaning.
‘You better go up front before you piss everyone off!’ hissed Shay, the woman Freya was sharing a mat with.
Freya planted her hand against the flaking wall, hefted herself up off the thin mattress and began to pick her way across the crowded floor lit only by the dancing light and shadows of the sweeping spotlights outside.
She made her way to the barred entrance at the front, miraculously managing not to tread on anyone’s outstretched hands or feet. There was a soldier in a biohazard suit waving around a small penlight to attract her attention. They’d all noticed over the last twenty-four hours that the marines had upped their biohazard precautions. Whether that meant good news or not was the subject of mutterings from one cot to another.
‘You’re Freya Harper?’
‘Yes!’ she hissed. ‘You can tell the idiot with the megaphone to stop barking out my name now!’
The soldier muttered something into a radio and a moment later the mix of a reverberating hiss and the hum of ever-threatening feedback snapped off.
‘There’s someone to see you.’
‘Who?’ She guessed it was Leon’s dad. She looked around. ‘Where is he?’
‘Mr Friedmann’s out in the exercise area.’
He produced some keys, unlocked the barred door, let her through. He nodded at the door that led out on to the basketball court. ‘He’s out there.’
She emerged into the cool glare of a floodlight standing outside the corner of the basketball court. She could see moths and flies caught in its beams and hear the chhh-chhh-chhh of the cicadas and the soft rumble and hiss of waves breaking nearby.
She wondered if this was another dream. She wondered if Grace was going to suddenly emerge out of nowhere again. Savouring the coolness as the gentle breeze teased goose bumps on to her arms, she looked around for her visitor.
‘Hey! Over here!’
It was Leon’s dad. She walked quickly over towards him.
A soldier was standing watch nearby and gestured with a jerk of his gun that Freya needed to keep a few steps back from the mesh.
‘Mr Friedmann? Why’re you here? What’s going on?’
‘Freya . . .’ he began. He looked sideways at the soldier, then took a step forward until he was up against the wire. He lowered his voice. ‘We got a radio transmission from the other survivors in New Zealand. It’s . . . I don’t know how to say this . . .’
Her heart jumped as she realized it had to be something about either Grace or Leon. Not Leon. Not Leon. Not Leon . . . Not dead. Please . . .
‘Just say what it is . . . please.’
‘Grace.’
‘Grace? She’s dead? She’s alive?’
Mr Friedmann said nothing for a moment as he stared at her. She sensed he was waiting for her to say something. But she didn’t know what. ‘Tell me!’
He looked over his shoulder at the guard, then gestured for her to walk with him a few steps. ‘She’s . . .’ His voice faltered. He cleared his throat, lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. ‘She’s one of Them.’
‘Them?’
‘The virus. She’s infected. She’s been turned into one of those copies. She’s . . . Jesus Christ, she’s been bodysnatched or whatever the hell the term is!’
Freya looked down at her feet. She realized she should have been rocked by that. Grace? But . . . she wasn’t and, deep down, part of her had hung on to a suspicion that it was too good to be true – Grace, turning up like she had at Everett’s castle.
Her mind was racing.
You knew, Freya. Come on, you already suspected this.
‘How . . . how do you know Grace is infected . . . ?’ she asked, stalling for more time to think.
‘We got a message from New Zealand today. They say she stepped forward as some sort of “ambassador” on behalf of the virus. The virus wants to negotiate with them!’
Freya looked up at him. ‘Negotiate?’
He grabbed at the mesh and it rattled in his grasp. ‘You came down to Southampton with her and Leon, didn’t you?’
She’d told him that. ‘Yes.’ She’d told him they’d been holding out in a Norman keep. She hadn’t told him about what had happened before that, though.
‘How long were you with them? When did you meet up?’
‘We met sometime after the outbreak,’ she replied. An edited reply. A simple lie to avoid telling him about all the horrible things that had happened to his daughter.
‘And you didn’t know? Jesus! You were living with each other and you—’
‘I don’t know how or when . . . Are you even sure it’s the same Grace?’
‘It’s my Grace,’ he croaked. ‘My little girl.’
You suspected. Come on, Freya, you had your doubts. You just didn’t voice them because Leon was so relieved to have her back. Right?
‘Was she different, Freya? Was she –’ he shook his head – ‘wrong somehow?’
Or maybe she’d never suspected back then . . .
But you suspect NOW, don’t you?
There’d been a moment, back in Emerald Parks, a fleeting moment in that sauna when she’d thought she’d glimpsed something ‘wrong’ dangling from Grace’s face. And, ever since then, Freya had written it off as something she’d imagined; that, or a lock of hair caught in the torchlight. Then everything had happened so quickly. They’d carried her away rolled up in a tarp, soaked her with diesel and set her alight. And the screams, those human-child-burning-to-death screams had all but erased what she’d glimpsed.
When Grace had turned up at Everett’s castle nearly two years later, the scars on her face and neck were all the proof she’d needed to confirm that here was Grace again. A miracle after that terrible fire, a shadow of her former self, but at least she was still alive.
‘Freya?’
‘It’s true, then. She must have got infected at some point. I didn’t know her well enough to be sure. But, I guess it might—’
‘When? At Southampton? Is that when it could have happened?’
‘Maybe. Could have been, I dunno, earlier . . . maybe. I don’t know!’
‘Freya . . . Freya!’ She looked back at him. His fingers were gripping the mesh hard, his knuckles bulging and white. ‘Listen to me! Is it possible she got infected and didn’t even know it? Is that how this happens?’
Corkie. Remember that grisly old bastard? That look of total astonishment on his face?
‘Yeah . . . uh, yes. We had some people who had that. They didn’t know they were infected. They just . . . It came out. They—’
‘Were they acting differently? Oddly? What?’
She shook her head. ‘They . . . they just didn’t know!’
‘So any one of us could be infected. You? Me? This soldier behind me?’ Mr Friedmann lifted his chin at the tobacco warehouse. ‘What about in there? Is there anybody in there who could be infected?’
‘Shit. I don’t know! None. Maybe everyone. I really don’t – They’ve been tested!’
He quickly put a finger to his lips. She closed her mouth.
‘The salt tests aren’t reliable,’ he said quietly.
‘What? How do you know?’
He leaned forward until his forehead gently bumped against the mesh. There was something in his gesture that worried her. Until now he’d looked in charge, confident. The one person she’d encountered since the outbreak who looked like he’d survive it untouched. He looked defeated now.
‘What is it?’
‘The virus can cross the sea.’
‘What?’
‘New Zealand spotted some large viral island, or ship, on its way over.’
‘Ship? How?’
‘I don’t know any more than that. The point is the sea is not the barrier we thought it was. We’re not safe here in Cuba.’
‘Oh God . . . we’re not safe here!’
Come on, Freya . . . you already know this. That voice in her head was getting too loud to ignore.
‘We’re all in trouble, Freya. I know. But . . . listen, there’s something else.’ He hesitated.
‘What?’
‘Trent thinks you’re all compromised. That you’re all infected. I think at least one person is, inside. One person who must be aware they’re infected.’
Freya? Come on . . . wake up.
‘Shit.’
‘I don’t know what Trent’s going to do next. I need to get you out of there before he does something stupid to all of you.’
‘Like what?’
‘He threatened to torch the warehouse.’
Her dream suddenly felt like a ghastly premonition. ‘Oh God. No. You need to get everyone out!’
‘I . . .’ He looked at the soldier standing nearby. There were others, a dozen of them, watching this conversation warily. ‘That’s not possible. I’ve managed to stall him for now. But, listen, I’m going to get you out, Freya. Then I need your help. I need to find out if we do have someone in there who’s here to talk on behalf of the virus! Before it’s too late.’
You know who that is.
‘You’ve seen more of the virus up close than anyone. The copycat humans? Is there anything, anything, that gives them away? Marks them out?’
You know, Freya. Come on, wake up.
That voice in her head. Grace’s voice.
Yes. I’m not a dream. You are awake. This is real. I’m with you. I’m inside you.
‘Oh shit, oh God,’ muttered Freya softly.
. . . And we’re not monsters, Freya. We can be negotiated with. We just want what’s best. That’s all. What’s best for everyone.
‘Freya?’ Mr Friedmann looked hard at her. ‘Are you OK?’
You’re infected, Freya.
She slowly began to back away from him and the fence.
‘Freya? Where are you going?’
‘I’m . . .’ She really didn’t know. She was taking steps backwards, recoiling at the realization. In shock. Confused. Frightened.
‘Freya.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Stay right there! Stay right where you are! I’m going to try and get you out.’ He turned to the soldier standing guard a few metres away. ‘Where’s your CO?’
The soldier pointed across to the far side of the court. ‘Over there, sir.’
‘Go get him. We’re getting this girl out of here. Right now.’
‘Sir? That’s not—’
‘This is on the president’s personal authority, soldier! This girl has important strategic information. I need to get her before the president right now!’
The soldier looked from him to Freya, then back again.
‘NOW!’ barked Mr Friedmann.
Freya wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. One moment she was in the basketball court, the next she was in a Cuban army jeep with Mr Friedmann frantically driving her along a dusty road.
The world outside her head suddenly felt distant, irrelevant even; she was inside her head looking out through eyes that no longer even felt like hers.
I’m infected?
Does this mean I’m still me?
Is this even me asking questions? Or am I something else now?
With each unanswered question she felt as though she was sliding further down a slanting tiled roof, ever closer to the edge towards a drop into a terrifying abyss. If she stopped asking, maybe she’d stay right here, clinging to sanity by her fingernails.
She was dimly aware of Mr Friedmann driving them through empty and dark streets, stopping several times at checkpoints manned by both US and Cuban soldiers. She saw him pull out his ID on one occasion, on another a soldier simply recognized Friedmann’s face, wished him a good evening and waved them through. The city, conserving energy and under martial law, was entirely dark. The vehicle’s headlights picked out the signposts, the street names and curious faces peering out from candle-and gaslit homes.
Now that she’d acknowledged it, her mind felt violated, invaded, like seeing a burglar stalking silently through her home, touching things, examining things. Even though she ‘felt’ it was not a stranger, but Grace, it was too much.
Your mind, Freya, just like everyone else’s many voices.
Get out! Get out!
Freya! I want to help you. Listen to me . . . please!
Finally they were out of the dusty suburbs and driving on a potholed and empty road, flanked by chest-high ranks of swaying cassava plants on one side, and grapefruit orchards on the other. Tom pulled over on to a dusty side track and brought the jeep to a halt. He switched the headlights off and they sat in the moonlit darkness listening to the engine ticking as it cooled down and the persistent chirp of cicadas.
Freya dimly observed it all from afar and sitting right next to her, almost holding her hand, was Grace explaining what was happening. Talking her through a transition that felt like descending into the deepest and darkest pits of Mordor.
And then, calmness.
After the calmness, the strangest sense of togetherness.
Finally she accepted it. She had no choice. It was an inescapable truth.
‘Mr Friedmann . . . I think I’m the one you’re after. The one with the virus inside.’
She expected Mr Friedmann to lurch back in his seat away from her, to wrench the driver-side door open and, almost comically, flee out into the night.
But he didn’t.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘I heard you,’ he replied.
‘Why . . . why aren’t you . . . panicking . . . running, doing something?’
‘Like what?’ He glanced her way. ‘Do you want me to shoot you? Shoot myself?’ He laughed bitterly. ‘What’s the point, right?’
‘You don’t seem to care that much.’
‘There isn’t much left to fight for, Freya. If Grace is infected . . . Leon probably is too. They were my only reason to fight on, to stay alive.’
She thought she heard his voice wavering with emotion.
They sat in silence for a while. She couldn’t have guessed for how long – a few seconds, a few hours?
‘You were in the pen at Southampton. You were on the ship. You passed all the tests. How certain are you that you’re infected?’
‘Certain. I can feel it . . . hear it . . . in my head.’ She turned to look at him. ‘The virus spoke to me.’
He turned to look at her. ‘It spoke to you?’
She nodded. ‘I think it’s been trying to talk to me during the last couple of weeks,’ she added. ‘In my sleep. Through my dreams.’
‘Are there any others who are infected in the warehouse?’
Freya shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Have you infected anyone else?’
She shook her head. ‘No! Why did you get me out?’
He didn’t answer immediately. He just stared out of the dusty windscreen.
‘Because . . . because you know about my kids, you’ve been with them. You’re the only link I have to them.’ He turned to face her. ‘And I had a suspicion you might be the one.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since we got the communiqué from New Zealand earlier. They mentioned Grace by name – she’s with them down in New Zealand. She surrendered herself to them. Through her they’re going to try communicating with the virus.’
And I’m here inside you too, Freya. I can be there and here at the same time. Tell Dad I’m here. With you.
‘Earlier, you said it spoke to you. The virus spoke to you?’
Tell him. Grace’s voice. Tell him I’m talking to you.
‘Yes.’
‘What did it say?’
‘Mr Friedmann, it’s talking to me . . . right now.’
He nodded slowly. ‘OK, all right . . . then what’s it saying?’
‘It’s in my head . . . the virus.’ She turned to look at him. ‘It’s Grace.’
Tell Dad . . . ‘Hi’.
‘A part of Grace is talking to me right now, Mr Friedmann.’
His brows knotted. She could see muscles in his jaw clenching, unclenching. ‘How? How’s that possible?’
‘It’s hard to describe. It’s . . . like, only a voice . . . like a memory of her, but a memory that can do its own thinking. She’s telling me to say she’s right here.’
‘How the hell is my girl inside of you?’
‘She’s . . . the virus . . . part of it . . .’
Freya, I’m going to come out and talk to Dad. He needs to see me.
She suddenly felt light-headed, like the time she’d taken a playground dare and run in circles while staring straight up at the sky, only to collapse on the tarmac and scab both her knees. It was like suddenly dropping, no ground beneath her.
Tell him not to be frightened at what’s about to happen.
Freya mumbled something. Hopefully Grace’s message, but she wasn’t sure what noises were coming out of her mouth now. The world was fading fast. Grace was taking over.
It was pleasantly dark.
Not a cold, intimidating darkness, but something comforting and warm, womb-like, welcoming.
So, this is it. This is how it feels?
The thought ran in lazy circles around her, the most cogent thought her foggy mind could manage. Not so bad after all, Freya. She settled back in the darkness to rest and to consider her circumstances. Infection . . . the world was full of far worse things than that.
Infection felt just like a lovely warm bath.