Lie Kill Walk Away E-Book

Matt Dickinson

• Herausgeber: Vertebrate Digital
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

LIEI check the Range Rover dash. The keys are in there.The sirens are closing in. There's a police helicopter coming over the hospital.KILLI have to decide. Decide right now. I can keep out of trouble. Not get involved. Just run away through the park and go home and pretend none of this has happened.Or I can help Becca.WALK AWAYI stare into her eyes. Those deep blue eyes. Just for a split second.I tell her, 'get in the car'.Joe and Becca uncover a deadly secret. A lethal bioweapon is about to be unleashed. Millions will suffer a terrible death.Now they are being hunted down.And their problems have only just begun …

Leseprobe

MATT DICKINSON

www.shrinebell.com

FOR MY DAUGHTER ARIADNA

CONTENTS

DedicationPart 1 –Into the Hot ZonePart 2 –Barrier OnePart 3 –Lethal AgentPart 4 –Caged TerrorPart 5 –Barrier TwoPart 6 –The Cook ZonePart 7 –The Wet RoomPart 8 –Biohazard Level 4Part 9 –LockdownPart 10 –Excess HeatPart 11 –InterrogationPart 12 –Speed ResponsePart 13 –MeltdownPart 14 –Cell DeathAcknowledgementsAbout the AuthorAlso by Matt Dickinson

– PART 1 –

INTO THE HOT ZONE

Patrick Eden: Biohazard suit sealed. I’ve got oxygen for fifteen minutes.

Police Command: Instructions from Defence HQ. Do not go in alone. I repeat: do not go in alone.

Patrick Eden: There’s a man dying in there. I’m going in.

Audio transcript from helmet mic worn by Patrick Eden, UK Government bioweapons inspector following emergency call at SYMBARON lab, Hampshire.

1 REBECCA EDEN

Sleep shatters into a thousand ugly pieces. A distant scream worms its way into my waking mind.

‘NO!’

I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart racing. A woman’s cry. High pitched. Desperate. Down in the garden? Perhaps in the woods? It sounded like my mother.

But it can’t be.

I take a few deep breaths, calming myself down and persuading myself it was just a nightmare. I swing my legs out from under the duvet and only then think to check the time.

Ten past nine.

I blink in surprise. It’s way too late. During the summer holidays Dad wakes me at precisely eight o’clock with a cup of tea and two pieces of toast.

‘Rebecca! Oh daughter mine! Get your lazy backside out of bed!’ His morning serenade. Every single day of the holidays.

But not this one.

I slip off my nightdress and pull on jeans and a T-shirt. Something pricks my nostrils. I smell burned toast. I go to the top of the stairs and call down.

‘Dad? Are you there?’

No reply. Something is wrong.

2 JOE FONTANA

It’s a bit past midnight in north London. I’ve been spraying for fifteen minutes and this is how far I’ve got:

I’m working as fast as I can. Enjoying the mist. The jelly-baby fuzzy high that comes with it. Cans hissing away like silver serpents. Ears on radar alert for the crackle of a walkie-talkie. The wall belongs to some sort of military hospital so I’m on maximum alert.

There’s not many people around, just a drunken old tramp in the park on the opposite side of the road. Way down the other end of the street there’s a bunch of rowdies getting chucked out of a pub.

That’s not my business.

Shamrock is with me. That’s my dog. He’s a daft, scruffy mutt but he’s all right. I chose him from the shelter. On his sticker it said some kids had tied him up in a bin bag and thrown him in a canal for a laugh.

That’s why I wanted him – show him people aren’t all bad.