Necrocide

Chapter 30

FIVE YEARS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK...

A heavy snowfall covered the Forest of Bowland that January. Soft particles of ice drifted down from the night sky, paving the land around the armored personal carrier in white. The vehicle continued its journey through the woods, the dirt road it followed hidden under the white blanket of snow. Trees stood beside the road like hitchhikers awaiting a ride, but instead it kept moving forward to the new facility, four more similar-looking vehicles trailing behind it.

Each APC carried eight people, two at the front of the vehicle and the other six in the back. The vehicle at the front of the line carried six men, each one over forty and full of experience in the British Army. Hardly any of them knew where they were headed, only that their contributions to this project would benefit mankind and end one of its weaknesses. It would be the ultimate motivation to keep fighting for what they loved most and not fear the possibility of a cruel and unusual death.

While all of these soon-to-be-test subjects were ordered to forget everything about their pasts, one man in the front vehicle dared not to. As the APC trekked through the snowy, ragged road into the forest, he wrote what he felt would be the last letter to his daughter for a while. And if this project was really as lethal as that pipsqueak Simon Reid said it would be, this might be his only access back into the outside world until he died a death that no one would know about.

His wife had abandoned him. There was no way in hell he'd let his daughter forget him, too.

Sarah,

I know it's only been a couple of hours since I departed from Lancaster, but I already feel worlds away from you. You were asleep when I left the house. I hope you read the note I left behind, and if you did, you should know to call Auntie Emma to cook you food and take you to school. You've made it to Year 7, darling. I know you can keep it up.

And whatever those kids tell you, just remember. Your mother is not a witch. She just doesn't feel like I'm the perfect father for you. And that's the other thing. There is nothing wrong with not being perfect. Striving to be perfect only brings out your flaws even more. Striving to improve brings out the best in you.

And, Sarah, no one in England needs more improvement than I do. That's just something I had to learn.

I love you, dear. And even if you might not be perfect in the eyes of everyone, you'll always be the perfect child to me.

Love, Daddy

The APC bounced over a bump in the road, and the man dropped his pen right as he concluded his letter. The pen rolled to the edge of the vehicle behind another man, a gentleman old enough to have wrinkles on his face and grey fuzz on his chin. He reminded the first man of his grandfather, back when he was still alive.

"What are you scribbling, old man?" a younger lad asked. The first man glanced over to see Simon Reid, the scrawny man who nervously convinced him to join this project.

"Scribbling?" he repeated.

"Yeah. No drawing allowed. This isn't a retirement home. You geezers are headed to a secret facility where you will be tested for your strength and endurance. I wouldn't be surprised if you and the rest of these granddads broke something on the first day."

"I'm only forty-three, you wanker. And do you want to know what I'm scribbling or what?"

Simon shrugged. "Sure."

"Well, first things first. What kind of knickers does your mum wear? I need help finishing up this drawing of her."

A couple of the other men in the vehicle chuckled, leaving Simon grumbling in a lack of amusement.