Fic: Babylon is Fallen, Part 3 of 3 (Pros, B/D)

[przed]

The next morning, the only thing Doyle wanted to do was to get in the car and drive as fast as he could to Scotland. To Cowley. And, so he hoped, to Bodie.

But he had more than his own wants to consider. Lily was still visibly shaken, and Grace seemed unsure what to do with her. Doyle thought back to his time volunteering with the youth group, working with kids who got beat up, kids who were afraid, and he had an idea.

"Lily," he said as they were all munching on a breakfast of cereal bars. "Have you ever shot a gun?"

"Doyle!" Stuart and Grace said simultaneously.

"She's a little girl," Grace said.

"You don't give a weapon to a kid," Stuart said, clearly appalled.

"She's not that little. Are you Lily?" Doyle gave the girl a wink, and fancied he almost coaxed a smile from her. "And we all need to defend ourselves. Especially now. You too, Grace."

"I don't know." Grace was hesitating, clearly torn between propriety and necessity, but Doyle thought she could see the sense in his suggestion. To survive this long, to look after her sister and niece, she must have done more than she let on in Lily's presence.

"C'mon. I'll just show you a few things."

"It better be damned few," Stuart said. "You start shooting, and the sound is going to draw the infected, sooner or later."

"We're in the middle of a field, Stuart. Even if the infected show up, we'll have plenty of warning."

In the end they had nearly two hours before three infected appeared at the edge of the field, braving the daylight to head in their direction. In those two hours, Doyle showed both Lily and Grace how to load, aim, and shoot a gun, though finding a pistol small enough for Lily's hand was a challenge. He eventually found a Walther PPK-L buried in the bottom of the pack with their weapons that Lily could manage with both hands. In spite of the challenges, she took to the shooting like a natural.

She was even better at the hand-to-hand defence techniques Doyle threw in at the last minute. She picked up on everything the first time, and was putting Doyle and Stuart down with a hip throw within minutes, a look of complete concentration on her face.

Grace had to work harder at everything, but eventually she too hit the tin cans Doyle put up as targets, and managed to take Stuart down with a leg sweep.

By the time they bundled into the Rover and roared off, Lily was looking less afraid and more determined, and Doyle was confident that both she and Grace knew enough to defend themselves both from the infected and from more human predators.

The motorways grew more desolate the further north they drove. They saw empty cars, empty shops, empty fields. The only living things they saw were a few stray cows and, in one field, a magnificent black horse and a dappled grey foal, running into the distance.

They only stopped once, on the outskirts of Manchester. All that was left of the city was a massive plume of smoke and the lick of flame on the horizon, and they watched, astonished, at the sight of an entire city consumed by a fire there was no one left to fight.

After Manchester, they were all silent, wrapped up in their own thoughts of the death and destruction they'd seen.

Doyle's mood only began to lift when they reached Glasgow, nearly the end of their journey. They drove around the outskirts of the city in that last hour before daylight fades. Doyle was astounded at how beautiful the city looked, bathed in the golden glow of the last of the day's sunshine.

They turned off the motorway, onto the Glasgow Road that would take them most of the rest of the way to Dumbarton, to the castle where all Doyle's hope resided. Doyle was at the wheel for this final leg of the journey, had insisted upon it after their stop outside Manchester. He'd needed to put as much distance between himself and that dying city as possible. Now he drove as quickly as he could towards Dumbarton Castle.

They were on a strip of road that was deserted except for a few trees and the odd house, when Doyle caught a flicker of movement at the edges of his vision.

He turned his head slightly, and saw three men, three healthy people, jumping up and down in front of a big old hotel.

"Stuart?"

"I see them," Stuart said, and Doyle could hear the same tentativeness in Stuart's voice as he felt. He knew he should be happy to find more survivors, but for some reason these three men, wearing army fatigues and so close to Cowley's stronghold, made him uneasy.

Doyle slowed the car and turned into the hotel car park. Almost before he had the car stopped, the men had opened their doors and pulled them all out, shouting and patting backs, and saying how good it was to see other survivors.

Doyle was shaking the hands of the men and smiling and trying to stamp down on the unease still making the flesh on the back of his neck crawl, when three more men emerged from the mail hotel building.

"Raymond Doyle," said the first of the men. "I thought you were dead."

"It takes more than a plague to kill me, Willis," Doyle said, calculating how fast he could draw his gun if needed.

"Who's your friend, Doyle?" Stuart was looking from Doyle to Willis and back. Doyle thought everyone in CI5 had heard about Willis and his plot to fit up Bodie, but then Stuart had probably been in deep undercover when Marikka had happened.

"Willis is MI6. And he's not exactly a friend."

"You're not still holding that grudge, are you Doyle?"

"You tell me." Doyle wanted to give nothing away. Not where Willis was concerned. The man was as twisty as a snake swallowing its own tale.

"I'm honestly happy to see you, Doyle." And if Willis didn't exactly sound sincere, Doyle had to give him credit for trying.

"Thank you."

Of course, Willis' presence brought up a host of questions.

"Why are you here, Willis? Did you hear Cowley's broadcast?"

"Ah, yes," Willis said with a sigh. "Cowley's broadcast. I suppose that's what brought you here."

"Of course it's what brought us here," Doyle said shortly. "Why else would either of us be here?"

"I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Doyle. There's no one at the castle."

"What do you mean?"

"The broadcast is a recording and the castle's empty. We were there two days ago, and it looks like it's been overrun by the infected."

"No." Doyle refused to believe that. Cowley had to be at the castle. He had to be alive. If he weren't, if the castle were deserted, if the sanctuary had been destroyed, then Bodie- No. He wasn't going to believe any of it.

"It's true, I'm afraid."

"We'll check it out ourselves, if you don't mind," Stuart said, clearly not trusting Willis any more than Doyle did.

"Oh, feel free," Willis said with a wave. "But you might want to wait until tomorrow. The sun is setting soon, and I don't want to think what the castle would be like at night. You're all welcome to stay here. The hotel has plenty of rooms, and my men have made sure there aren't any infected inside."

Doyle wanted nothing more than to tell Willis to fuck off and continue to the castle. He was convinced Willis was the same lying bastard he'd always been. But the sun was just about to fall below the horizon, and it really was foolish to travel after dark when there was always a chance of there being infected about.

Turning down a safe place to sleep when he had Grace and Lily to think about would be criminally stupid.

"Thank you, Willis," Doyle said, with as much sincerity as he could muster. "We'd be grateful for your hospitality. All of us." He waved Grace and Lily over from the car.

Willis seemed to notice the woman and girl for the first time. "Who are your charming companions, Doyle?"

"Grace Edwards, and her niece, Lily."

"That wouldn't be Doctor Edwards, would it?" Willis' eyes showed an interest in Grace that Doyle couldn't help but view as suspicious.

"It would," Grace said, frowning. "Do I know you?"

"Let's just say I was following the work of a number of labs, before London completely fell apart. Your work looked most promising."

"We had hopes, but we hadn't confirmed anything."

"Still, hopes were more than the rest of us had," Willis said.

Doyle wasn't sure he liked where any of this was going. He didn't trust Willis at the best of times. Of course, it was generally the worst of times when Willis turned up at all. And he definitely didn't like the interest Willis seemed to be showing in Grace. Not when Grace was the one hope he had that this plague might be ended. Not when Willis had never acted out of altruism once in his miserable life. Doyle didn't reckon even the end of the world would stop Willis from acting purely out of self-interest.

"Listen, we can talk in the morning, but we'd like to get some kip as soon as possible. We've been driving all day and the girl is exhausted." It was an excuse, but not one that lacked an essential truth. It was obvious Lily was knackered.

"Of course," Willis said, and led them into the hotel.

Doyle let Grace and Lily go first, following with Stuart, and hoped that he wasn't going to regret his involvement with Willis as much this time as when Bodie's bloody German ex-girlfriend had made her reappearance.

The hospital room was as Bodie remembered it: the same smell of disinfectant and piss, the same stained beige walls, the same machines beeping and humming. At its centre, hooked up to the machines, to oxygen, to too many tubes, was Doyle.

"Jesus, Ray," Bodie said, not knowing or caring how he'd got here. "We've got to get you out of here." He set about disconnecting the machines, the tubes.

He began hearing a noise in the hallway, a slight murmur that grew until it was a muttering, then a shouting of hundreds of voices. Screaming, yelling, inarticulate voices that could only belong to the infected.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Bodie muttered as his fingers failed him and he couldn't unhook the final machine to free Ray. He took a breath to calm the dread overwhelming him, and then with a gasp managed to break the final connection that tied Ray to the bed. "Got it," he said in triumph. "Come on, sunshine," he said, as he pulled Ray's unconscious form up and prepared to lift him.

Ray stirred in his arms, and he nearly yelled in triumph. Ray wasn't in a coma, they were going to get out of here, and everything was going to be fine.

Then Ray began grabbing at him with fingers grown like talons and Bodie began to realize something was wrong. When Ray opened eyes red as blood, Bodie only had time to scream once.

Bodie awoke from the nightmare, panting, his heart beating fast in his chest.

"Fucking hell," he said, as he tried to loosen the hold the dream had on him, to escape that last nightmarish vision of Doyle as one of the infected. He flicked on the torch he kept by his camp bed, taking comfort in the distorted shadows it threw.

The nightmares had gone away for a time. After Guy's fell, they'd been bad, unbearable even, but had faded after they set up the castle as a sanctuary. Willis and his fucking attempted coup had stirred everything up again, and his sleep had been the main victim. Sometimes it was Ray who was infected. Sometimes, Ray was attacked by the infected. And once, the worst time, Bodie had found himself infected, had watched helplessly from the inside as he'd torn Ray apart in a haze of blood and rage.

For the last three nights, sleep had become an enemy to be conquered. Every night he fought another action with it, trying to bend it to his will, trying to achieve some rest before the nightmares came.

He wasn't up for fighting another battle tonight. Better to concede for the moment and retreat to fight another night.

He zipped open his sleeping bag and threw on a jumper over his t-shirt. He pulled on his boots, zipped up his leather jacket, grabbed his weapons, and headed down the crag to the ramparts.

Jax was on sentry duty this night, and didn't seem surprised in the least to see him.

"Nightmare?" Jax asked, handing him a thermos full of coffee.

"Yeah," Bodie replied, taking a sip of the coffee. It tasted like crap but it was hot and it would keep him awake. He didn't elaborate on the vision of Ray that had driven him from his warm sleeping bag to stand guard on the cold ramparts. "Why don't you piss off? Go sleep in the entry hall." Bodie nodded at the Governor's House behind them.

"Are you sure?" Jax asked. In the flickering torchlight, Bodie could see Jax's concern warring with the desire for a good night's sleep.

"Go on," Bodie said, giving Jax a punch on the shoulder. "I'll give a shout if anyone turns up."

"Cheers, mate," Jax said, not questioning his good luck too far.

Bodie pulled his jacket closer around him, and tried not to think what might be out in the dark, beyond the reach of the arc lights illuminating the final fifty yards of the road leading to the castle. He concentrated only on what he could see: the lawn at the foot of the ramparts, the gate beyond that they manned only during the day, the roughly paved road beyond.

He tried to keep his thoughts from Doyle. Even the good memories had a way of twisting on him these days, of betraying him by turning to images of Doyle shot in the leg, or bleeding out on his rug, or pushing him away after that bloody Ann Holly left him. All of which was better than when his mind insisted on turning over what must have happened to Ray in the final moments in that hospital bed. Like it had tonight.

Christ.

He took another sip of coffee, bit his lip, and prayed this night would end sooner rather than later.

"Mr Doyle! Mr Doyle!"

Doyle thrashed under the blanket, struggling to understand why Lily was yelling at him in the middle of the night, and willing himself to wake up fully. Bodie always had been better at the whole waking at a moment's notice thing. "What's the matter?"

"They've got Aunt Grace. They dragged her out of the room just now."

"They? Who?" A spike of adrenaline woke Doyle up completely. "The infected?"

"No. Mr Willis and his men." Now that his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, he could see the panic in Lily's expression. "They told me to mind my own business and go back to sleep, but I couldn't."

"Christ," Doyle spat out, pulling on his boots and shrugging into his holster. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted him." He ran out of the room, Lily trailing behind him, and woke Stuart with a firm nudge. "Willis has Grace," he said. Stuart was up immediately, grabbing the shotgun he'd placed by the bed. However ambivalent he'd been about saving Grace and Lily, Stuart was clearly no happier about Willis' behaviour than Doyle was.

They raced down the hall and down the stairs, Lily at the front pulling on Doyle's arm. As they reached the ground floor they could hear shouting coming from the rear of the hotel, and Doyle pushed Lily behind him.

They emerged into the hotel's kitchen, a cavernous room, lit by the flames of a dozen candles. Grace was at the centre of the room, held by two of Willis' men.

Doyle didn’t wait for an explanation, didn't hesitate until Willis could come up with a rationalization for his actions. He waded in and punched one of the men holding Grace on the nose, ignoring the pain that exploded in his knuckles.

Bodie always told him he should watch his temper.

He thought of Bodie as he blocked punches and aimed kicks, as he took down one of Willis' men with a well-aimed boot to the goolies, and narrowly avoided the same fate himself. He and Bodie would have managed this. They each knew how the other fought. They knew when the other would break, and when he'd stand. They could work miracles together.

He and Stuart, however, were not about to work a miracle. There was never a chance they were going to win, not against six men every bit as well trained as they were, but that didn't stop him from fighting. He kept on fighting until one of Willis' men wrapped an arm around his throat and squeezed until Doyle saw stars, and even then he kept struggling until the sound of a gunshot seemed to detonate the very air around him.

The room stilled, and everyone looked to the centre, where Willis stood, one hand holding a now smoking gun, and the other wrapped in Grace's hair. Doyle could see tears leaking out of the corners of Grace's eyes, and her expression was even more panicked than it had been a minute before.

"That's quite enough, Doyle."

"Let her go," Doyle choked out, even as the bastard with his arm around his neck tightened his grip. Across the room, another of Willis' men held a gun on Stuart, while a third had Lily by the arm.

"You don't realize what she represents, do you?" Willis' voice was contemptuous.

"She's a human being, and she deserves better than having you drag her out of her bed in the middle of the night."

"She could be the only one on this island, in the world even, who can produce a cure for the rage virus. Think of the power that would bring, having the cure in your control."

"The castle really isn't deserted, is it?" Doyle could suddenly see very clearly what had happened, what was going to happen. "You tried to take control, and Cowley kicked you out."

"Cowley couldn't see the opportunity he had. And the scientists he has aren't even as far along as Dr Edwards here. With her knowledge, I can put myself and my allies in charge of any future government."

"I'll never work for you," Grace said, her voice firm, even though Doyle could see she was shaking in fear. "You're a mad man."

"Let her go," Doyle said, though he could do nothing but watch as Willis looked around the room and he calculated his next move. Doyle wished they hadn't stopped here. He wished he hadn't listened to Willis. He wished Bodie were here.

Then Willis' gaze stopped on Stuart, and he got the most horrendous smile on his face.

"One way or another, she's going to work for me." Willis said imperiously. "And I believe I know how to properly motivate her. Bring those two," he said, waving at Doyle and Stuart. "Lock the girl in the pantry."

Doyle tried to break free as he was hustled through the hotel kitchen and out the back door, Stuart behind him, Grace and Willis ahead. Their entourage passed through a car park lit only by the thin light of their torches. Willis brought them to a small building at the end of the car park, a shed that looked like it might once have been the carriage house.

The stood there for a moment, in the silence, and then Doyle heard something from within the shed. Someone-no, something-began banging against the door, over and over.

Christ, Doyle thought, it couldn't be…Willis wasn't that mad. But then the thing in the shed began to snarl in a way that Doyle had only heard from the infected. Grace's face took on a horrified expression, and Stuart began to struggle even harder.

"I see I don't need to explain what I have inside."

"What kind of an idiot are you?" Doyle asked. "You can't keep those things under control."

"Oh, I didn't mean to control it. It was meant to be an experimental subject, if I found someone to work on the cure. But unfortunately it seems to be getting a bit hungry. I was worried we might lose it to starvation."

"No," Grace said, the dawning horror clear on her face.

"Oh, yes, my dear." He turned to the man holding Stuart. "Weston, bring that one here."

Stuart tried to break free from his captor, but the man struck him on the side of the head with his gun, stunning him, even if he didn't knock him out completely.

"Don't do this, Willis," Doyle said. "It's murder."

"Murder?" Willis laughed. "Murder is what your friend Bodie committed back at the castle. He shot two of my men down in cold blood. There's another two upstairs hanging on a knife's edge."

"I'm sure they all deserved it," Doyle said, even as he rejoiced in the knowledge that Bodie was alive, was really alive.

"Just as Stuart deserves this." With that, Willis flung the door open, pushed Stuart in, and shut it swiftly again before either Stuart or the thing inside could get out. Before Willis even had time to lock the door again, an awful rending sound began inside. And then Stuart began to scream. The screams went on a long time. Forever. Grace put her hands over her ears long before it was over, tears streaming down her face. Doyle wished he could have done the same. He was going to be a long time forgetting that sound.

"Now," Willis said when it was all over. "Do I have your attention?"

"You fucking bastard," Doyle said. "What did that gain you?"

"It gave my test subject a meal, and it made the two of your realize how serious I am." He turned to Grace. "You will set up a lab and begin work on a cure to the virus immediately. If you don't cooperate, Doyle will also become a meal for the creature. Do you understand, Dr Edwards?"

Grace nodded, then drew in a great gulp of air.

"Good. Throw them both in the pantry with the girl. I don't want them to even think they can get away."

Willis' men frog-marched them both back into the hotel, in through the kitchen before stopping in front of a large iron-bound door.

From inside they could hear Lily, pounding on the door and screaming. Willis' men opened the door and threw Doyle and Grace in before Lily could get out. Doyle had the impression of a long, narrow space lined with high shelves before the door was slammed shut, blocking even the limited light from the torches. It was no wonder Lily was screaming, locked in the dark, by herself, not knowing what was happening outside.

"Aunt Grace." Lily's voice was ragged and choked. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Lily. Just fine." Grace was lying, of course, but Doyle had to admit she sounded convincing. Maybe that was what children did for you: made you a better liar when you had to hide hard truths from them.

"Where's Mr Stuart?"

"He's just outside, answering a few questions." It was a valiant attempt, but Doyle knew Grace had hesitated a second too long. So much for adults being better liars around children.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Lily sniffed loudly, the precursor, Doyle thought, to her throwing the wobbly to end all wobblies. "They killed him, didn't they?"

"No, he's not dead," Grace lied again, and her lie was more rushed, more transparent this time. Lily was going to be hysterical in no time. It was time to stop treating her like a small child. She was young, but she was going to have to face some hard truths if they were all going to get out of here.

"He is dead," Doyle said, ending any further chance that Grace could continue to lie.

"Doyle!" Grace said, clearly shocked at his bluntness.

"Oh--" Lily began to sob.

"I told you because you're old enough to know, Lily." Doyle's eyes were beginning to adjust, to see shapes in the darkness, courtesy of a very small, very high window. He could see Lily in front of him, see her looking in his direction. He put a firm hand on her shoulder. "The only way we're getting out of this is if we all know what's going on. And if we all stay calm. Do you think you can do that, love? Can you stay calm until we find a way out?"

Lily took a couple of heaving breaths, and Doyle thought he'd lost her, but then she nodded.

"I can do that, Mr Doyle."

"Good girl." He squeezed her shoulder, then started looking around the pantry. "Is there anything in here we can use?" What he could see in the dim light of the room was a lot of empty shelves and a few old wooden crates in the corner he'd bet held not much more that a few mouldering potatoes.

"Nothing I could find." Lily was definitely calmer, was starting to think instead of just reacting. "There's not much of anything."

"How about the window?"

"It's too high up for me."

"Me, too. Let's do something about that, shall we." Doyle shifted some of the crates and stacked them under the window until he could reach the window. The bloody thing seemed to have been painted shut when Queen Victoria was still alive, and he couldn't move the latch. He didn't want to break the glass, though. If Willis didn't have a man on guard underneath it, he didn't want to alert him to the fact that he should.

"Here," Grace said, holding out what looked to be a potato peeler. "Try this."

It was an unlikely tool for the job, but using it, Doyle managed to scrape away the old paint holding the window shut. With difficulty, he opened the latch and pushed the window open. Only to find what he should have known from the start.

"The window's too small. I can barely get my head through it. I'd never manage to climb out."

"Let me try," Grace said.

Doyle clambered down the crates, and let Grace climb back up. But try though she might, she couldn't get out of the window either.

"I bet I could get through," Lily said, her fear apparently completely forgotten.

"No!" Doyle and Grace said simultaneously.

"It's too dangerous," her aunt said.

"But I'd fit."

"You're not doing it, young lady," said Grace.

"Mr Doyle, you told me I was old enough to know what was going on. That makes me old enough to do this."

"No, it doesn't," Doyle said firmly.

"But why not?"

"Think, Lily. If you manage to get out of the window, what then? Willis doesn't seem to have anyone guarding the outside of the window, but he'll have someone on the other side of that door. There's no way you could get us out. The only thing you could do is make for the castle. And if you do that, it won't only be Willis that's after you. It'll be the infected."

"I know that," Lily said, exasperated as only as ten-year-old confronting clearly stupid adults could be. "But I spent weeks avoiding the infected with mum. And with Aunt Grace. I could get to the castle. I could bring help."

"You couldn't, Lily." Doyle tried to be gentle but steadfast. "I'm sorry, but you're not going."

Lily crossed her arms, and moved off to the furthest corner away from Doyle and her aunt. Even in the darkness of the pantry, Doyle could tell she was immersed in a fine pre-adolescent sulk. But better that than the alternative.

"We should all try and get some sleep," Doyle said. "We might come up with a better idea once the sun rises."

So they shifted the last few boxes of some lower shelves, and used bags of dried peas for pillows and settled down to sleep.

In the last few minutes before he drifted off, Doyle couldn't help taking comfort in the fact that for all the horror he was going through, Bodie was alive. That had to be a sign everything was going to be all right.

It had to be.

It had been a long night. Clouds had obscured the stars, and the temperature had dropped far more than was decent for summer's end. Bodie had zipped up his leather jacket, tried to ignore the cold, and kept his eyes on the road leading up to the castle, even while he tried to turn off the portion of his brain that seemed to want to think of nothing but Ray Doyle.

Doyle was dead. And if he didn't exactly want to move on, not the way Murph or even Cowley meant it, he was beginning to wish he could stop feeling this raw pain all the time.

Some time before dawn, the moon rose above the horizon. It showed through the clouds as a ghostly version of itself, casting a sickly light over everything. Bodie felt nothing but relief when false dawn began to show on the horizon, the eerie light of the moon giving way to the grey overcast of another day. The next shift would be arriving soon. Maybe he could grab some kip. Maybe the sleep that evaded him at night, except to throw new terrors at him, would give him a fucking break during the day.

He looked down at his watch in time to see it tick over to 0600, and when he looked up again, there was movement on the road.

"Jax ," he yelled, grabbing the rifle and aiming at the infected running down the castle road. "We've got company."

He closed one eye and peered through the scope, lining up his target and waiting for it to come into range. There was another flicker of motion. He looked up to see three more infected appear on the road.

"Any time, Jax!"

He heard the castle door open behind him and feet on the stone stairs as he returned his attention to the rifle's scope and prepared to fire.

Doyle's first thought on waking was he was cold. Colder even than he should be, sleeping in an ancient, unheated pantry in jeans and a t-shirt.

He opened his eyes and sat up. At least he could see properly now. The sun was up, and its light was filtering through the window.

The open window.

The bloody thing was jammed open with a piece of wood that must have been pried from one of the crates. That's where the cold morning air was coming from. But Doyle was positive he hadn't left it like that last night.

He looked around the pantry and found what he both expected and feared. Grace was where he had left her, asleep on the shelf across from him, but Lily was not. And in a space this small, it wasn't as if she could have hidden anywhere. There was nowhere to hide.

"Grace." He shook her arm, but she didn't wake. The previous day's event had obviously done her in. "Grace," he said, louder. "You've got to wake up."

"What is it?" she finally asked, slowly sitting up.

"It's Lily," Doyle said. "She's gone."

Bodie took an even breath, eased his finger onto the rifle's trigger, and prepared to fire. And then he noticed something.

"Fucking hell," he said under his breath, as Jax scrambled to set up with a second rifle beside him. "That first one's not infected."

"What?" Jax looked through his own scope. "Christ, Bodie. It's a kid."

"A girl." Now that she was closer, Bodie could see the ponytail flying behind her.

"They're gaining on her," Jax said.

Bodie didn't stop to think. "You take out those infected." He grabbed the rifle and ran to the stairs leading down the ramparts and out of the castle. "I'll get the girl."

He hit the bottom of the stairs at a run. The girl looked exhausted. There was no telling how long she'd been running, or how long she'd stay in front of the infected chasing her. He could see her clear the low flagstone wall marking the edges of the castle's property, and the limit of Cowley's realm. The infected weren't far behind her.

He heard the crack of a rifle behind him, and saw one of the infected shudder and fall.

"Run!" he yelled at the girl, and she put on an extra burst of speed. Jax fired again and took another of the infected out, but then missed on his next two shots. The girl made it to Bodie, and he got hold of her and put her behind him as the final infected drew closer. He threw down the rifle-the range was too close-and pulled out his pistol. The infected was closer, a few feet away, when he fired the contents of his clip into it. The thing went down in a cloud of blood, snarling and howling. The girl behind him was screaming.

"It's all right, love." He put a hand on her shoulder, only to have her wrap her arms tightly around his waist. It wasn't a position he'd expected to find himself in, comforting a young girl, but he did his best, patting her back until she'd stopped screaming.

She took one final gulp of air and the pulled away from him.

"Are you with Mr Cowley?" she said, the last thing he'd expected to hear from her.

"Yeah. How do you--"

"Then you have to come back with me," she said emphatically, pulling on his arm. "They're going to kill them."

"Who?" He dug in his heels to stop their forward progress. "Who's going to kill who?"

"I think one of them was called Willis. At least that was what Mr Doyle called him. And they're going to kill Mr Doyle and my Aunt Grace." She pulled at his arm more forcefully, as Bodie felt the earth reel under his feet.

"Doyle?" Bodie clutched the girl's shoulders with a desperate strength. "Is it Ray Doyle you're talking about?" Of course it had to be. Who else would send the girl for Cowley? Who else would know Willis?

"I think so." The girl suddenly looked as frightened of him as he'd been of the infected. "He and Mr Stuart rescued Aunt Grace and me in Derby." Her face started to collapse as she remembered something. "Willis killed Mr Stuart last night." She clutched at his hand. "We have to go and get them. We have to save them."

Derby. It had to be Ray. It just had to be. And he wasn't going to lose the bastard twice in one lifetime. Not if he could help it.

"Is she okay?" Jax ran up behind him, breathless.

"We have to get Cowley." Even with as few men as Willis had left, it would take a team to rescue Doyle and the girl's aunt. A team only Cowley could authorize.

"What's going-"

"Ray's alive. The girl says Ray's alive. And Willis has him."

It took Doyle a good two minutes to calm Grace down.

In the end, Doyle resorted to a slap to get her attention, and then took firm hold of her shoulders.

"You're not going to do Lily any good if you're hysterical."

She took a deep gulping gasp of air and clutched at his elbows.

"I know, Ray." She hiccupped the words out. "But she's all I've got. All the family that's left."

"I understand," Doyle said, wishing he had even one of his snotty-nosed nieces or nephews to claim as family himself. "But you've got to keep calm if you're going to be of any use to her."

"That's the worst part."

"What is?"

"That she thought she was being of use to me."

Doyle could see the signs of another hysterical fit approaching, so he shook her gently.

"Then let's get out of here and make sure you both get to be of use to each other again, shall we?"

Grace hesitated, then nodded. Doyle looked around, and they got to work.

Doyle broke one of the crates apart completely, hoping he could use a slat or a nail in it to pry off the door's hinges. They tried to break apart the windowsill, to see if they could open it up enough that one of them could make it through. They even contemplated pulling apart one of the shelves and using it as a battering ram to force the door open, but finally realized the door opened the wrong way to make that scheme at all workable.

In the end, they armed themselves with slats from the crate and waited for Willis' men, hoping that they could use the element of surprise and overpower them.

Willis' men came perhaps an hour after they'd discovered that Lily was gone. The door opened and a gun poked in and they were ordered out of the pantry. Doyle dropped his slat and with a look got Grace to do the same. If they'd had the element of surprise on their side, they might have managed it. Without it, they hadn't a snowball's chance in hell.

Willis was waiting for them outside the door.

"Have you changed your mind, Dr Edwards?"

"Absolutely not," Grace said with an encouraging amount of defiance.

"Wait." Willis frowned. "Where's the girl?" Doyle didn't say anything, and neither did Grace. Willis looked to his men. "Where is she?" he shouted.

One of the men ventured into the pantry and emerged, looking sheepish and confused.

"She's not in there, sir."

"I can see she's not in there." He turned his attention to Grace. "Where is she?"

"We don't know." Grace raised her chin and Doyle was extremely proud of her, standing up to a bully like Willis.

Willis turned as purple as an aubergine and struck her across the face with the back of his hand. Grace's head snapped back. Doyle immediately stepped between her and Willis, one fist raised.

"Don't you touch her again, you bastard."

"I'll do what I like, and with no interference from you. You probably sent the girl for help, didn't you?"

"She left on her own," Doyle insisted.

"She's a child. She wouldn't do anything so stupid on her own. It was your fault." Willis' mouth tightened. "I think you've just outlived your usefulness, Doyle." He looked to the man on Doyle's right. "Tie him up and bring him to the back."

"No!" Grace practically screamed. "You can't. Not again."

Willis grabbed her by the wrist and twisted it viciously.

"I can. And what's more, you're going to watch again. And you're going to think about what will happen if you defy me one more time."

Doyle thrashed and fought, but it was four men with guns against the two of them, and it didn't take long before his hands were bound behind him with a rough rope.

"Jesus," Grace began weeping as Willis dragged her out of the hotel, and Doyle was hauled out, squirming, by two of Willis' goons.

The problem with staging a rescue in a plague-ravaged countryside, Bodie reflected, was the slightest hum of a car engine would give your position away. That didn't matter if what you were chasing were the infected. They were no better than dumb animals. But if your prey was a highly trained MI6 operative, a certain amount of finesse was called for.

Mind you, Bodie wasn't entirely keen on the mode of transport Cowley had come up with to replace his beloved Capri.

He twitched the reins of the bay mare he was riding and dug his heels into her side. She launched herself and cleared the fence on the railway right of way they'd been following, landing in the narrow scrap of green between a housing estate and what looked like old military barracks. He heard the other horses, all five of them, land behind him, and follow him, galloping towards the Glasgow Road.

Bodie had been sceptical when Cowley had showed him the horses they'd saved, but he couldn't argue with Cowley pointing out that the petrol was going to run out, sooner or later. And it wasn't as if a tanker was going to roll up the River Clyde with a fresh delivery of petrol any time soon. Now he was grateful for Cowley's foresight, even if he wasn't fond of the creatures.

Bodie pulled on the reins just shy of the road, much to the annoyance of his mount. "Come on, you stupid beast," he whispered. "This is as far as you go."

He dismounted, tied the reins to the wrought iron fence surrounding the barracks, and set about sorting out his kit.

It was a mad plan Cowley had come up with. But then, it was a mad situation by any reckoning.

Bodie, Murphy, Benny, Jax and two of the better-trained civilians were the advance guard. They were to approach on horseback, and take the final few hundred yards on foot, hoping for the advantage of surprise. Jack Craine and the main force were doing a forced march on foot for the mile and a half to the hotel where Willis was holding Doyle and Grace Edwards.

A mile and a half. Bodie couldn't fucking believe it. Never mind fifty miles, Willis hadn't even shifted himself five. And he'd fetched up at the same place Bodie had first found him. The bastard had balls; there was no doubt about that.

The others had their mounts tied, and were getting ready to launch their attack as well. They all had AK-47s or Uzis, plenty of ammo, and handguns.

"Remember," Bodie said. "They've got Doyle and a civilian. We keep them safe, but Willis and his crew are fair targets."

Murphy nodded grimly, and they moved out.

The first part of the attack was the most dangerous. They had to cross the Glasgow Road in more or less plain sight. They all ran as fast as possible across the road, until they came to the hotel where Willis was once again entrenched. Once there, Bodie, Murphy, and Benny broke right, while Jax and the other two members of the team broke left. They would each circle the hotel, then enter from the rear. By then, Craine would be there with the rest of the team, and they should be able to take them out easily.

That was the theory, anyway.

Bodie was in the lead and was perhaps halfway around the hotel when he heard the scream. It was a woman's scream, the sort of scream Bodie had heard once too often in London after the outbreak had started. It was the sort of sound he'd never get used to. He froze for a moment, but when the scream broke off abruptly, he was running before he'd made a conscious decision to move, with Murphy and Benny close behind him.

They rounded the corner of the hotel to find a group of people gathered around a small outbuilding at the back. Five armed men surrounded three figures: Willis, a woman Bodie didn't recognize, but must be Lily's aunt, and a scrawny bloke with close cropped hair. The scrawny bloke had his hands tied behind him, and Willis had him by one arm, and seemed about to throw him into the outbuilding, while the woman struggled to stop him.

It took Bodie nearly ten seconds to realize the scrawny bloke was Doyle. When he did, all thought of strategy and tactics and proper procedure deserted him. He roared, and ran forward, shooting short controlled bursts at the men on the edges.

Two of the men fell, and the others turned and started firing back. Bodie ignored the bullets. He could see the woman and Doyle continue to struggle with Willis. Bodie was maybe ten feet away, when the most extraordinary thing happened.

The woman planted her feet, grabbed Willis by the front of his jacket and knocked him off his feet with the sweep of one leg. Bodie couldn't have done it neater himself.

She didn't stop there, though. She opened the door of the outbuilding a crack, kicked Willis inside, and slammed the door shut. Within seconds, there was a horrendous sound of tearing and breaking and Willis' screams.

Willis' men stopped firing as the screams peaked and stopped. Bodie pointed his gun at the nearest one.

"Drop it. Or do I have to kill you all this time?" The man, the one Bodie had stopped from getting to the Magazine, stared at him intently, before he finally let his weapon fall from his hands. Murphy and Benny moved in to bind the other two, as Jax and his team emerged from the other side.

Jack Craine and his group were the last to arrive, long after the screams from the outbuilding had faded to nothing and Willis' men had been hustled into the hotel.

"I say," Craine said. "Are we too late?"

"My niece," the woman demanded. "Is she safe?"

Bodie heard Murphy take the woman, Aunt Grace he supposed, off to the side and assure her that her niece was safe. He sensed Craine and his men setting a perimeter and making sure the infected in the outbuilding who'd just made a meal of Willis wasn't about to break out. He knew Jax was hovering at the sidelines, checking that he wasn't about to fall over from shock.

Bodie ignored them all.

There was only one person he was interested in: the man who stared back at him with a huge grin.

"Could use some help with the hands, mate," Doyle said with a shrug, and Bodie realized that his hands were still bound behind him. He pulled his knife from his boot and cut the ropes. "Thanks," Doyle said, as he rubbed his reddened wrists.

Bodie didn't let him say any more. Didn't give him a chance to treat him just like a colleague, a mate, a friend who'd helped him out of a tight spot. Doyle was more, so very much more. He'd thought he might love Doyle before, but he fucking knew he did now.

He grabbed Doyle, wrapped his arms around him and held him as tightly as he could. He buried his face in the crook of Doyle's neck and squeezed his eyes shut as he took in Doyle's warmth, breathed in his scent.

"I thought you were dead," he said, over and over again. "I thought you were dead." He couldn't stop saying the words. Kept repeating them as if they were a touchstone, a mantra, a spell that could erase the time that he really had thought Doyle was dead.

Doyle held him back just as tightly and stroked his back.

"I'm not dead, mate," Doyle whispered into his ear. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"You fucking better not."

"I'm sorry to disturb this touching scene," Murphy said, almost apologetically, "but we're just about ready to move out."

"Fuck off, Murph," said Bodie.

"Yeah, Murph," Doyle said, his voice a growl that Bodie could feel in his diaphragm. "Fuck off."

Murphy, clearly knowing when he was beaten, fucked off, leaving them still wrapped around each other.

"They're going to start talking," Doyle said, after another minute.

"Let them."

"They're going to come to certain conclusions."

"I don't care."

"Just thought I'd make sure," Doyle said, and then squeezed him so tightly Bodie felt like he'd been squashed.

As declarations of love go, it wouldn't get past the Romantic poets, but Bodie wouldn't have traded it for all the sonnets in England.

Doyle drifted up through a pleasant haze. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe, he felt comfortable, he felt happy. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pulled the blanket over his head, wondering if he could manage to sleep for twenty-four hours straight. The sheer luxury of that sounded delicious.

As he was drifting off, the muted sound of voices pulled him back to consciousness.

"-things going down there?" Bodie's voice made Doyle smile. He was never again going to take that voice for granted. He was going to enjoy every single word Bodie said from this point forward. Even the stupid ones. Possibly even especially the stupid ones.

"Things are settling down." That was Murphy. "Grace has already set up a bench in the lab. The rest of the boffins all seem excited, so she might really be onto something. A vaccine, at least. Maybe even a cure."

"And Lily?"

"She's still shaken up. Who wouldn't be, after all she's been through? But the other kids seem to be looking after her. She'll be all right. As much as any of us will."

There was a pause, and Doyle heard the sound of footsteps growing nearer.

"How's Goldilocks doing?" Murphy asked, his voice much closer this time.

"Knackered." Bodie chuckled, and Doyle thought that sound might be even finer than his speaking voice. "Told me he was fine, he just needed to sit down for a minute. Next thing I knew, he'd collapsed on my bed and was snoring."

"You'll need to get some kip soon, too." Murphy sounded concerned. "When was the last time you got any sleep?"

"I'll put my head down soon enough." Doyle frowned. How long had it been since Bodie had slept? "Put that down here, would you?" There was a thunk and the sound of scraping, like a piece of furniture being dragged into place.

"Thanks, Murph. I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one. Just don't let anyone know I helped you nick the chief boffin's extra large camp bed." Leave it to Bodie, Doyle thought.

"He'll never notice it. Sleeps alone, doesn't he?"

"I take it you're not intending to sleep alone."

"Take what you like."

"That's what I thought." Doyle could practically see the grin on Murphy's face, the sly bastard. It was a good thing Murph was a friend, or Doyle wouldn't have liked his chances against Bodie. "It's a good thing you've got the only private living quarters in the whole castle." He heard Murphy begin walking away. "Look after Doyle, won't you? He looks like he's been through the wars."

"We all have, Murph," Bodie called back. Then there was the slam of a door and they were alone.

Doyle forced himself to sit up, struggling with the blanket wrapped around his legs.

"Good morning."

"Evening is more like it," Bodie said. "And how long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." Doyle smiled. "Are you going to look after me, then?"

"That's what I have been doing. Look at that." Bodie pointed to a wood and canvas monstrosity sitting on the floor of the Magazine, beside the much smaller camp bed Doyle was on.

Bodie was looking far too pleased with himself. Doyle couldn't resist teasing him.

"What's that when it's at home, then?"

"It's a bed, you silly git. One big enough for both of us."

"Presuming a lot, aren't you?"

"Nah." Bodie smirked. "We're made for each other."

"Well," Doyle smirked back, "I doubt anyone else would have you."

"Of course not." Bodie stuck his nose in the air. "No one else has your finely developed sense of taste."

"I love it when you go all posh."

"I hope that's not the only thing you love about me."

"There is your sparkling personality."

"You must have me confused with another bloke," Bodie said, laughing. "Come on, then. Let's try this thing out."

Doyle fought for a moment with the blanket, narrowly avoiding having an inanimate object get the better of him, then waited while Bodie arranged the bedding he'd acquired who knew where on the new bed. When it was all organized to Bodie's satisfaction, he made his wobbly way over to it, and they both collapsed on it, side by side.

It wasn't the most comfortable bed Doyle had ever encountered, but it had the virtue of having Bodie in it. For a long minute, Doyle simply lay there, listening to Bodie's breathing, concentrating on the press of Bodie's arm into his, on the way their thighs touched, taking simple pleasure in Bodie's presence.

"Christ, I missed you," he finally said, turning slightly and wrapping one arm around Bodie's chest.

Bodie didn't say anything in response. He simply surrounded Doyle with both arms and squeezed him so tightly Doyle was having trouble drawing a breath. Finally, one of Bodie's hands drifted up his back, caressing his neck, then the back of his head.

"I miss the hair," Bodie said, his voice a low rumble in Doyle's ear.

"It'll grow back," Doyle said, knowing this wasn't about his hair at all.

"I know."

"I'm not entirely delicate, you know," Doyle said, when it appeared Bodie wasn't going to do anything but hold him.

"You were in a coma."

"I got better."

"It still doesn't seem quite real to me. I thought you were dead for days. For weeks."

"If I was dead, I couldn't do this." Doyle pulled back slightly, then kissed Bodie as fiercely as he could manage. Bodie froze for a moment, and Doyle nearly stopped, wondering if they'd been through too much, if what they'd had before hadn't been strong enough to survive the end of the world. But then Bodie's mouth opened to his, and Bodie's hands were at his back, on his arms, on his arse.

Still side by side, Doyle rushed to push up Bodie's shirt, to open his flies, to feel his skin. He gasped as Bodie pushed his jeans down his thighs and brought their cocks together. He bit down hard on Bodie's shoulder as Bodie stroked the two of them together.

They neither of them lasted long. They were both bruised and knackered and suffering from too much stress. Doyle went over first, clutching Bodie's rucked up shirt as Bodie took them to the short strokes. As he recovered his breath, Bodie went off. Doyle held him tightly as Bodie shuddered and seized Doyle's waist and made a sound suspiciously like a sob.

Doyle continued to hold Bodie, Bodie's face a welcome warmth in the crook of his neck. He held him until the stickiness on their bellies began to cool and he needed to pull the blankets up over them both.

Wrapped in scratchy wool, he kept a tight grip on his partner, waiting until whatever tempests raged inside Bodie had calmed to a light summer breeze, until Bodie's hold on him eased from a death grip to a soothing embrace.

"I'm sticking by you, Bodie," he whispered in Bodie's ear. "You won't lose me again."

"I'd better not." Bodie's voice was hoarse and tentative. "I'd better bloody not."

They both drifted into an easy sleep, and for the first time since Cowley ordered an all-hands call out to Essex, their dreams were not of plague and infection, of death and loss, but of hope.