from yesteryear. "What happened before -"
"This is no time for principles," the colonel said, cutting over Jackson. "This is a time for doing what needs to be done, in whatever manner the situation requires. This virus, this fucking flu virus, needs to be contained," he said, stressing the word flu, as if marvelling at how something so trivial could cause such chaos. "Strong leadership is required to make sure that is what happens."
Jackson said nothing, feeling suddenly aware of the cold-blooded doctor behind him, his narrow slits of eyes seeming to bore into the Major's head. He wondered why the colonel hadn't just passed leadership duties over to Gallagher. After all, he seemed to want someone to take over who fitted exactly Gallagher's profile.
"I'll do my best, sir," Jackson said, calmly but not confidently. "Under your guidance, of course."
The colonel laughed. "I'll be dead within the day," he said, a touch of anger resonating throughout his body in the guise of a wheeze. "But I've left strict instruction for my body to be donated to Dr Gallagher's project. Now, please leave me," he said. "I don't have long left, and I'm damn sure I'm not going to waste my final moments on a prick like you."
Jackson couldn't believe the colonel had just said what he thought he had said. He looked over at Gallagher, his jaw hanging almost to the floor in disbelief. But Gallagher looked back at him, almost smiling beneath his benign expression.
"If you could come this way, sir," he said, gesturing Jackson towards the door, as if he were a normal doctor, an ethical doctor. "It's time to leave the colonel to his final rest."
Jackson moved out the door, knowing that the next time he returned, the man he had just been talking to would no longer be a man. In fact, he would no longer be alive, instead taking on the form of something that was, at best, imitating life. He was led to his quarters by Gallagher, where he was left to settle in. He had been given a modest room with the very basics a man required for life - a bed, a desk, a sink. On the wall was a single picture, a painting of a sunrise. It spoke of the only thing that Jackson could be sure of, anymore. That the sun would continue to rise. That the world would continue to turn. Nothing else was written in stone.
"Good, you're awake "
Geri rubbed her eyes, too sleepy to notice that she was sloped over a chair, loosely tied. It was the tattooed man who addressed her.
"Oh, the rope was just to stop you from slipping off the chair," he said, smiling as if there were some kind of joke in that sentence. He was talking to her through a glass door. She'd come to while they were tying her to the chair, but she had decided still to feign unconsciousness. It seemed that, while pretending to be unconscious, she'd actually dozed off. Typical, really, she thought to herself. She always did love her sleep, even though she hadn't really had any for the last week.
Geri allowed her sleepy eyes to sweep her surroundings. She was in a glass patio at the rear of the house. It had obviously been an extension that was built fairly recently. They were popular for those kinds of terraced houses, offering some extra room and space to the rear of the house, where the gardens were often generously sized. The patio had been someone's pet project. Someone who was most likely dead or undead right now.
"It wasn't my idea," continued the tattooed man, palm pressed against the glass door as he talked. "But McFall thinks you're infected. This is your quarantine."
"I need to piss " Geri said, uncouthly.
"Then piss," he replied. She had heard him being referred to by the other man as 'Lark.' It had struck her as a rather strange name. Strange name for a strange- looking man. "You're not really tied to the chair. Remember? It'll be easy to shake yourself free."
He watched
"This is no time for principles," the colonel said, cutting over Jackson. "This is a time for doing what needs to be done, in whatever manner the situation requires. This virus, this fucking flu virus, needs to be contained," he said, stressing the word flu, as if marvelling at how something so trivial could cause such chaos. "Strong leadership is required to make sure that is what happens."
Jackson said nothing, feeling suddenly aware of the cold-blooded doctor behind him, his narrow slits of eyes seeming to bore into the Major's head. He wondered why the colonel hadn't just passed leadership duties over to Gallagher. After all, he seemed to want someone to take over who fitted exactly Gallagher's profile.
"I'll do my best, sir," Jackson said, calmly but not confidently. "Under your guidance, of course."
The colonel laughed. "I'll be dead within the day," he said, a touch of anger resonating throughout his body in the guise of a wheeze. "But I've left strict instruction for my body to be donated to Dr Gallagher's project. Now, please leave me," he said. "I don't have long left, and I'm damn sure I'm not going to waste my final moments on a prick like you."
Jackson couldn't believe the colonel had just said what he thought he had said. He looked over at Gallagher, his jaw hanging almost to the floor in disbelief. But Gallagher looked back at him, almost smiling beneath his benign expression.
"If you could come this way, sir," he said, gesturing Jackson towards the door, as if he were a normal doctor, an ethical doctor. "It's time to leave the colonel to his final rest."
Jackson moved out the door, knowing that the next time he returned, the man he had just been talking to would no longer be a man. In fact, he would no longer be alive, instead taking on the form of something that was, at best, imitating life. He was led to his quarters by Gallagher, where he was left to settle in. He had been given a modest room with the very basics a man required for life - a bed, a desk, a sink. On the wall was a single picture, a painting of a sunrise. It spoke of the only thing that Jackson could be sure of, anymore. That the sun would continue to rise. That the world would continue to turn. Nothing else was written in stone.
"Good, you're awake "
Geri rubbed her eyes, too sleepy to notice that she was sloped over a chair, loosely tied. It was the tattooed man who addressed her.
"Oh, the rope was just to stop you from slipping off the chair," he said, smiling as if there were some kind of joke in that sentence. He was talking to her through a glass door. She'd come to while they were tying her to the chair, but she had decided still to feign unconsciousness. It seemed that, while pretending to be unconscious, she'd actually dozed off. Typical, really, she thought to herself. She always did love her sleep, even though she hadn't really had any for the last week.
Geri allowed her sleepy eyes to sweep her surroundings. She was in a glass patio at the rear of the house. It had obviously been an extension that was built fairly recently. They were popular for those kinds of terraced houses, offering some extra room and space to the rear of the house, where the gardens were often generously sized. The patio had been someone's pet project. Someone who was most likely dead or undead right now.
"It wasn't my idea," continued the tattooed man, palm pressed against the glass door as he talked. "But McFall thinks you're infected. This is your quarantine."
"I need to piss " Geri said, uncouthly.
"Then piss," he replied. She had heard him being referred to by the other man as 'Lark.' It had struck her as a rather strange name. Strange name for a strange- looking man. "You're not really tied to the chair. Remember? It'll be easy to shake yourself free."
He watched
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