Read Online The Affinity Bridge by George Mann - Free Book Online Page B

lived in squalor and the virus could easily spread from host to host. Stories of the ‘revenants’ were spreading, too, with the daily newspapers parroting the rumours heard on the streets and sensationalising the epidemic for the gleeful consumption of cockatoos such as Felicity Johnson. They were right to fear, though; before the virus killed its host it would completely unravel their humanity, transforming them into a monstrous killing machine. Their flesh would stop regenerating, their only thoughts becoming animalistic, feral; in short, they would be reduced to nothing but the basest of creatures, and with that loss of faculty they’d become almost unstoppable, feeling no pain, showing no awareness of wounds that would kill an average man. It was as if the virus, somehow, kept them alive through all of this, waiting for an unidentified biological trigger. Then, after a handful of days had passed, the virus would complete its work and turn their brains to sponge, dropping their spent, lifeless bodies by the side of the road. It was a bad way to go. He hoped, for Miss Coulthard’s sake, that she was wrong and that her brother had so far managed to evade infection. Everything he knew about the virus suggested if that if he had been infected, by now he’d either be dead in a gutter or else stalking the fog-shrouded streets by night, a mindless monster in search of food and blood.
    Newbury closed his eyes for a moment, lulled by the motion of the cab. He imagined that Her Majesty would be growing impatient with the crisis by now, keen for the virus to burn itself out in the poorer districts of the city. She probably had a hundred scientists searching for a vaccination. If no solution were found soon, he had no doubt that she would place a cordon around the slums in an effort to slow the spread of the disease. Everyone was anxious, fearful of what might happen if the plague truly managed to get a grip on the city. Some projections suggested that up to fifty percent of the population could succumb to the illness: if not killed by the virus itself, then taken by one of the rampaging monsters it created. He suspected that it would be some time yet before the issue came to a head, and that the worst was probably still to come.
    He looked up. Veronica sat in silence on the other side of the cab, lost in thought. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, her face turned to the opposite window. She was wearing a powder blue jacket and white blouse, with matching culottes. He admired her modern sensibilities. Indeed, he admired much about her. Searching around for another distraction, he chose not to disturb her reverie. Instead, he unfolded his morning copy of The Times on his knee and inspected the day’s headlines. Unsurprisingly, the editor had chosen to dedicate the front page to a huge article about The Lady Armitage disaster. The headline read Airship Crashes in Finsbury Park: Sabotage suspected, upwards of fifty dead . Newbury shook his head. Sabotage suspected? He wondered if Stokes had been feeding ideas to the press. He certainly wouldn’t put it past the man. He hoped to find the company’s directors a little less repellent but was expecting to be disappointed. In his experience, like invariably attracted like, and any associates of Mr. Stokes would either have to maintain a will of iron or an ego as enormous as that of Stokes himself.
    He settled back in his seat, flicking through the pages of newsprint on his knee. He was still feeling delicate from the excesses of the laudanum, and silently chastised himself for giving in to his cravings. Miss Hobbes was astute, and his late arrival at the office and less-than-savoury appearance that morning had not gone unnoticed. He resolved to represent himself better in future.
    The driver tapped loudly on the top of the cab and both Newbury and Veronica looked up in surprise, dragged away from their thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Is this the place you’re looking for, sir?”
    He