For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak Read Free

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now was what was he going to do about it? If he’d still been at home, he could
simply have taken his gun and blown his brains out; messy, but quick. But he
wasn’t, he was in Scotland. He’d only ended up in Glasgow because it was the
first flight out of the US he’d found when he arrived at the airport the
previous afternoon. He was hoping for somewhere more exotic, but he figured
Glasgow would be a start. He knew people would come looking for him as soon as
anyone outside of the company found out he’d been the one to ignore the risks
and give the okay for the trial. He knew he had to get out of the country before
that happened. By the looks of things, it was just as well he did or he’d have
still been in Miami, watching all that was happening there in person, rather
than on TV from half a world away.
    As he
was leaving Glasgow airport, Michael had passed a convoy of armoured vehicles
heading towards it. He’d heard on the cab driver’s radio that Britain was
closing its borders and sealing itself off in the hope of stopping the disease
getting in. Now, in the safety of his hotel room, he wondered how many other
countries would follow suit. He laughed grimly to himself: little did they know
it was already too late; the virus was already here; he could feel it coursing
through his veins. It had been almost eighteen hours since he’d been infected
and Michael knew he didn’t have much time left. He knew he had to kill himself
before he turned and infected anyone else. That way, at least he’d do some good.
    He
thought about how he could do it. He didn’t want to cut himself; that would be
too difficult. Hanging was off the cards; there was nowhere in the hotel room he
could suspend himself from. He went over to the window and considered jumping,
but he was only two storeys up and that wasn’t high enough. Then it dawned on
him: an overdose. Quick, painless and it would be easy enough to get hold of the
drugs to do it. He could leave a note saying he was infected, warning people to
dispose of his body properly. That would work. All he had to do now was to go
out and purchase the painkillers, and hope that he had enough time to return to
his room before the disease finally overwhelmed him.
     
    ***
     
    The
mounted policeman nudged his partner and pointed down Argyle Street. ‘Effin’
drunks,’ he looked at his watch. ‘Just gone midday an’ he’s aff his heed
already.’
    ‘He’s
better dressed than your average Jakie, though,’ his partner replied.
    ‘Bein’
rich don’t stop you bein’ an alkie, does it?’ He watched the man stagger a few
yards further and then collapse. A knot of people quickly gathered round to
gawk. ‘I suppose that’s the cue for one of us to get involved.’
    ‘Usual
way?’
    Rock,
paper, scissors had been their way of deciding who got to do any unpalatable
tasks ever since they’d first been teamed up. ‘Yep.’
    ‘On
the count of three.’ They held out their fists. ‘One, two ... three.’
    ‘Bugger! That’s the fifth time in a row you’ve won. How the feckin’ hell are you
doin’ that?’ Still grumbling about his run of bad luck, the policeman slipped
from his horse and gave the reins to his partner. He spoke into his radio,
calling for an ambulance as he walked towards the small crowd. When he got
there, he knelt down beside the man; he was unconscious, but still breathing …
just. The policeman put a hand on the man’s neck: his skin was red-hot and his
pulse was racing. Then the policeman noticed something unexpected: there was no
smell of booze. Usually drunks reeked of the stuff, especially when they’d had
enough to pass out. As he stood up, a thought flashed through his head: maybe
the man was sick rather than drunk. It couldn’t be the disease the Prime
Minister had talked about on the news that morning, the one from Miami, could
it? He hesitated for a moment and then reached for his radio