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  "You can't keep us locked in like this!" June Carey shouts, clearly filled with panic as she takes a fire extinguisher from the wall and tries to slam it into the glass. In her frail state, however, she only succeeds in dropping the extinguisher, and I have to grab her arms to make sure that she doesn't fall over. "We've seen those things now," she continues, trying to push me away. "If you keep us in here, they'll kill us all! You have to do something!"

  "What things?" I ask, looking over my shoulder. The corridor is empty, with all the patients and a few staff-members having come to the door in an attempt to get out. It's as if everyone's too scared to be on any other part of the ward. There's something unmistakably eerie about the whole place, and even though I keep telling myself not to imagine things, I can't shake the feeling that there's some kind of presence nearby.

  "Don't act like you don't know," June continues, with contempt in her voice. "You've been keeping things from us, but we're not going to sit around like sheep anymore! You even sent someone to lock us in our rooms, but we're not having that! We've seen them!"

  "Calm down," I say, watching as the soldiers on the other side of the door start to become a little more anxious. This situation could blow up at any moment. "I want everyone to come to my office and we can talk about -"

  "You're too late!" June says firmly. "We're getting out of here. There are things on this ward that have no right to exist! I don't care what you say. I'd rather take my chances out there with those men, than stay in here with those... things!"

  "What are you talking about?" I reply.

  Before she can answer, there's the sound of breaking glass, and I look over to see that one of the patients has managed to fracture a panel in the door. The others are egging her on, trying to help with the job. These panels are supposed to be shatter-proof, but the angry mob is starting to break through. The soldiers on the other side, meanwhile, are taking up new positions a little further back, and I've got no doubt that they'll open fire if they think there's a chance of anyone getting out. Their guns are already aimed straight at us.

  "I need you all to calm down," I shout, even though I know no-one's paying any attention to me.

  "Go and see for yourself," June continues, with fear in her eyes. "It's back there somewhere. I'd rather be gunned down where I stand than spend another minute in this place!"

  Realizing that I'm never going to get the full story from her, I turn and hurry along the empty corridor. I can still hear the patients trying to smash through the door, but I figure they can make their own decisions. Rounding the next corner, I find another empty corridor, but there seems to be a faint noise in the distance, as if someone is scrabbling about on the floor. For a moment, it occurs to me that I shouldn't go any further, that maybe I might be in danger, but finally my curiosity gets the better of me and I make my way slowly toward the next corner. There are a couple of clipboards on the floor, along with a smashed cup and an abandoned trolley. It's as if everyone was in a hell of a hurry to get away from this end of the ward.

  As I look through to the next corridor, my heart skips a beat.

  Nurse Jacobs is on the floor, her dead eyes staring almost directly at me, while a disheveled, white-skinned figure huddles over her with its face pressed into what appears to be a large wound on the corpse's chest. Standing in stunned silence, I listen to the sound of bones being broken, as a pool of blood continues to collect under Nurse Jacobs' body. For a moment, it's as if I'm intruding upon some kind of intensely private moment, but seconds later the hunched figure pauses, as if she's realized that she's being watched, and slowly she turns to look at me.

  Dominique Ribery.

  I take a step back.

  It's hard to believe this could be true.

  After all, I assisted in her autopsy...

  And yet there's no denying it.

  She looks so different, but it's still recognizably her. Her skin is almost completely devoid of color and her eyes are yellow, while there's blood all over her face. She stares at me with the same look of blank incomprehension that I saw in Cally Briggs' eyes earlier, as if she's never seen me before and has no idea who or what I am. She blinks a couple of times, and I can't help but feel as if I'm trapped in the gaze of a wild animal that's trying to decide whether to continue with its current feast or come after something fresh.

  Nurse Jacobs' chest, meanwhile, has been ripped open. Pieces of broken bone are jutting out of the flesh, and it appears that Dominique Ribery has been trying to get to the heart, which she has partially torn from the dead woman's body, holding the damaged organ in her hands. To Ribery, Nurse Jacobs' body is clearly nothing more than a collection of blood and meat.

  Taking another step back, I wait to see what she'll do next. I know I should get out of here, but at the same time there's something fascinating about the scene before me. As a doctor and a scientist, I simply can't turn my back on such a fascinating sight. My heart is racing and I have no idea how to defend myself if she makes a move toward me, but eventually it becomes clear that she'd rather finish her current meal before trying to find another. Looking back down at Nurse Jacobs' body, she reaches into the chest cavity and pulls out a section of lung, which she slowly places in her mouth and begins to chew.

  I was right. All those years ago when I thought that I'd detected a highly-evolved new form of cancer, I was right. If those fools hadn't laughed at me, I could have pursued my work and found the truth. Instead, the truth has found me.

  Just as I'm about to turn and run, I spot another figure lumbering into view at the far end of the corridor. For a fraction of a second, I can't even process what I'm seeing, until I realize that it's Nurse Aubry, making her way slowly along the corridor despite the fact that one side of her abdomen is open and exposed following my attempt to operate on her earlier. I removed the tumor from her body, but I guess there might have been another one that I missed, and that's what has started to control her corpse. Either way, she has her eyes firmly set on me as she shuffles toward past Nurse Jacobs' body. In the process, she almost trips over the corpse, causing Dominique Ribery to snarl with anger. The two creatures look at one another for a moment, before Ribery returns to her feast and Nurse Aubry continues her journey, getting closer and closer to me.

  "It's me," I say firmly, even though I know it's probably futile to try talking to her. "Listen to me, Dawn. It's Andrew Page. Try to -"

  Before I can finish, she opens her mouth and lets out a harsh, gargled scream. Her hands reach out for me, but I take a couple more steps back.

  "Try to remember," I say again, convinced that somewhere in there, she must still have her old mind. "Dawn, it's me!"

  She takes another step toward me.

  "Dawn," I add. "Please..."

  Frozen with fear, it takes me a moment to realize that it's now or never. Once she's just a few steps away from me, I turn and run back the way I came, back toward the crowd that's still trying to force the door down. General Kent is on the other side of the glass, shouting at everyone to get back, and the soldiers look nervous, as if they're wondering whether they're going to be asked to open fire. I stare at them for a moment, before looking back over my shoulder and spotting Nurse Aubry coming around the corner at the far end of the corridor, shuffling slowly toward us.

  "I need everyone to step back from the door!" General Kent shouts from the other side of the glass. "Now!"

  "We're not staying in here!" a patient shouts back at him. "You can't make us!"

  "Dr. Page!" General Kent calls out. "I need you to control these people!"

  Ignoring him, I continue to stare at Nurse Aubry as she makes her way slowly along the corridor, getting closer and closer.

  "We're trapped," June Carey says, having followed my gaze. "How many of those things are there?"

  "At least three," I say, glancing down at June's waist and seeing that she's rubbing her right side, as if she's in pain or discomfort. "And I think there might be more on the way," I add after a moment. "A l
ot more."

  Epilogue

  Ten years ago

  "Andrew?"

  I ignore the voice. Sitting slouched at my desk, with the light off, I just want to be left alone. I knew Catherine would come to find me eventually, but I just wish she'd understand that I really don't feel like talking right now. I just want to sit here and wait for everything to die down. Hell, I guess what I really want is for the world to stop laughing at me.

  "Come to bed," she says from the doorway.

  "Later," I mutter, staring at the dark window and the shadows of the trees outside.

  "Tomorrow's a new day -"

  "I know," I say firmly, "you're right, tomorrow is a new day, but that doesn't make things any better, does it? Jesus Christ, if you've got nothing more than empty platitudes, you might as well just... Go to bed. I'll be through later. When I'm ready."

  She pauses.

  "It's not the end of the world," she says eventually. "Everyone has setbacks."

  "Not in public," I reply darkly. "Not on a podium, in front of an audience of cackling idiots." I pause for a moment, reliving the horror over and over again. "How could I have made such a basic, fundamental error?" I continue. "All the hard stuff, all the revolutionary thinking and pioneering treatment, I got that down perfectly. I just had to sell it to them, even though I knew there were some crazy ideas in there. And then I go and make a couple of really huge blunders in my initial calculations, and after that..." The truth is, after that point of no return, the rest of my ideas were greeted with jeers and contempt.

  "Honey -"

  "The worst thing," I continue, "is that they were probably right. I probably did fuck it all up. I stood there and proclaimed that I'd found a cure for cancer, and then it was as if my goddamn pants fell down to my ankles."

  "You can keep going," she replies. "You can continue your work and maybe you'll prove that you were right after all."

  "I doubt any hospital in the country will take me now," I mutter. "My reputation has taken something of a battering, in case you hadn't noticed."

  "You're still the same man you were this morning," she points out. "So you've had a bad day. So you've made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. The key thing is to get up, dust yourself down and keep going. If you really believe in your work, then -"

  "That's the problem," I snarl, turning to her, "I don't believe in it! Not anymore!" I stare at her silhouette in the doorway, framed by the light of the corridor. "It was a pretty big stretch anyway. It's pathetically obvious now that I was just fooling myself. I mean, what kind of idiot would believe that tumors could even behave that way. Did you hear some of the stuff I was spouting tonight? Intelligent tumors, tumors that evolve, tumors that act as a parasite and attempt to take control of the nervous system, tumors..." Letting out a sigh, I lean back in my chair. "Maybe I've got a brain tumor," I add. "After all, what else could explain such stupid ideas?"

  "You're feeling low right now -"

  "Of course I'm feeling low!" I shout, getting to my feet. "What the hell's wrong with you, Catherine? Don't you understand? It's all about building up your reputation, and I just shat mine out all over the floor! It's over! I'm done! I'll never be anything more than a run-of-the-mill cancer specialist in some provincial little shit-hole of a hospital!"

  "That's quite an ego you've got there," she replies sadly.

  "Is that all you've got to say?" I ask, catching my breath. "You really don't understand, do you? You don't know what it's like to have greatness tucked away in your mind, waiting to be revealed to the world." I pause, staring at her silhouette; I know I'm being harsh and cruel, but at the same time, it feels good to lash out. "There's no point in us talking about this," I add wearily. "You wouldn't understand."

  "Because I'm not a genius, like you?"

  "You said it, not me," I mutter. "I was wrong. That's what it boils down to. I had all these great ideas, but I was wrong about them."

  "Just come to bed," she replies, her voice tinged with a sense of resignation and defeat. "Tomorrow's a new day, Andrew -"

  "Again?" I snap back at her. "You said that a few minutes ago, and now you're saying it again. Are you just gonna keep repeating endless words of comfort? 'Cause if that's all you've got, I mean if that's the only way you can think to comfort me right now, then I really don't see the point of you!"

  She stares at me for a moment.

  "Sorry," she mutters, "I was just trying to help." With that, she turns and walks away, heading to the bedroom.

  "Wait!" I call out. "Come back! I didn't mean it like that!"

  Seconds later, I hear the bedroom door swing shut.

  Standing in my darkened study, I'm overcome by the realization that I've made a complete hash of everything. I should go and apologize to Catherine and tell her that I didn't mean any of the things that I said, but I guess my apologies can wait until morning. Right now, I just want to focus on my work. Taking a seat behind my desk, I stare at the paperwork and try to summon up the enthusiasm to dive back into the studies I've been pursuing. The truth, though, is that I think that part of me died tonight, killed by the heckling I received from an audience of my peers.

  "Fuck you," I mutter, wandering over to the drinks cabinet and taking out a bottle of whiskey. As I pour myself a generous glass, I relive my moment of humiliation a thousand times over. "Fine," I whisper, downing the glass in one go. "Enjoy your cackling. I don't need your praise anyway."

  I'm never going to be a world-renowned genius or a great man. Despite my lofty ambitions, it turns out I'm just ordinary, and the best I can hope for is an ordinary career at an ordinary goddamn hospital. Worst of all, I'll have to deal with people. Real, living patients. I swear to God, I just want to scream, rip the world apart, and make them see that I should be respected.

  "Fuck you!" I shout, not even caring if Catherine hears. "Fuck you all to hell!"

  And then, standing alone in the darkened room, I feel the weight of hideous disappointment on my shoulders, and I realize that I can rant and curse all I want, but I can't change the truth. I failed, and the failure will remain in my soul forever.

  I'll never be a great man.

  Part Seven

  Trojan

  Prologue

  Two years ago

  "You? Join the army? Are you serious?"

  "Why not?" Colin asked. "It's good money."

  "It's shit money," Dave replied with a laugh, taking a swig from his pint of lager. "Anyway, you won't get much of it. They'll ship you out to the desert and let a bunch of terrorists use you as target practice."

  "It's not like that," Colin muttered, glancing across the pub and watching as the barmaid pulled a pint for another customer. "I just don't want to sit around here for the rest of my life," he added after a moment, "wasting away, doing shit little jobs for shit money. I mean..." He paused to look across the dull, dusty pub, which was once again almost bereft of customers. The whole place seemed less like a place to have fun and more like a funeral home, and Colin couldn't help but crane his neck around the corner to look at Old Stan, who was dozing in the far corner.

  "Stan dead yet?" Dave asked.

  "I don't wanna end up like him," Colin replied, keeping his voice low. "My Dad says Stan has been coming to the same pub day in, day out for fifty years. I swear to God, he's gonna drop dead in that corner one day, and no-one'll probably notice for a month." He paused, before turning back to face his friend. "No-one chooses a life like that. He had dreams once, and plans, and ambitions, but look how he ended up. I don't wanna just sit and rot like that."

  "Sure," Dave said with a laugh, "I hear you, but still, the fucking army? Christ, man, that's like the last option, you know? It's full of wankers, mate. Full of 'em, especially the ones in charge. Are you sure you don't wanna do something slightly less dangerous? Drag racing, maybe? Shark hunting? Mine-clearing?"

  "You don't know anything about the army," Colin replied, feeling a little annoyed by Dave's constant need to act like an exper
t on everything.

  "I know enough to know you're pissing your life down the pan," Dave said with a grin. "Anyway, the army's not for guys like you. No offense, Col, but you're... well, you're not exactly the tough type, are you? It's not like you could fucking run a mile with a backpack loading you down, or engage some asshole in hand-to-hand combat. You're the wrong kind of person for the army. They probably won't even accept you."

  "They already have."

  "Then they're even more fucking desperate than I thought."

  "And you're doing something more worthwhile?" Colin asked, annoyed by his friend's cynicism.

  "I'm in a planning phase," Dave replied, a little defensively. "Sure, I'm sitting in here a lot, but I'm thinking. You know what I mean? I'm pondering all sorts of stuff and working out when to make my move. There's no point running around like a headless chicken, pretending you're getting somewhere. I'm like a samurai, waiting until the perfect moment. Or it's like when a caterpillar's in a cocoon. It doesn't look very impressive from the outside, but it's working on stuff underneath. You know? One day, I'll spread my wings like a beautiful butterfly, and people'll realize I was turning things over in my head all along."

  "They will, will they?" Colin replied with a smile.

  "Mark my words," Dave said firmly. "Mark my fucking words, mate. I know people laugh at me, but I'm biding my time. You wait and see."

  "I've made up my mind," Colin said firmly, realizing that Dave would never understand. "I don't know where they'll send me, but I feel like..." He paused. "I feel like I need the discipline. Maybe that sounds stupid, but I feel like I need some order in my life. Anyway, it's not forever. I'll probably just do five years and then get out. After five years I'll be a bit different, yeah? I'll have a new outlook on life. I'll be... tougher or something. More resilient."