Infinity2
It's been a while, hasn't it. Ah,
well. Here's chapter two, people. Enjoy! (And please review.
Go on... pretty please? ^_^)
Infinity
By Miss Scarlet
Chapter Two: The
Intelligent Mr. Walsh and his Mission
Veronica Ashford watched the coat of arms
thoughtfully, as if waiting for the golden bird of prey to leap
from its embossed perch. "An eagle," she said to
herself. "An eagle No, it shouldn't be an eagle
resting, or standing still. The eagle was built for flight and
grace, for poetry and dreams. An eagle, with wings outstretched,
soaring far above the common people, putting them in their place"
"Miss Ashford!" the old butler called
out from the doorway. "My master has expressed a desire to
speak with you."
"Oh!" Veronica cast a last longing
glance at the silent eagle, and turned to him. "My
apologies, Mr Hatton, I was just admiring the coat of arms. May I
ask why your master decided to use an eagle?"
Jonathan looked mortified. "He did not
create it himself miss, the symbol of the eagle has been in his
family for generations!"
Veronica drew in a breath. "I do
apologise, sir, please forgive my ignorance. I do not know a
thing about lineage, or heraldry. It would mean a great deal to
me if somebody could explain a little about it. My mother never
got round to telling me about it"
The butler's face softened. "Oh, I'm
sorry miss. Please don't be upset. That was tactless,
especially with your mother I'm so sorry. If you'd
like, I'll go over the basics with you. Would that be
acceptable to you, miss?"
She looked up at him, smiling, a wicked gleam
in her eyes. "Oh, yes. I'd like that very much
indeed."
---
Steve opened his eyes. It had happened again
what was going on? His very mind felt like it had been invaded by
an army of hidden dreams and mysterious women, crocodile tears,
and beautiful eagles. An invasion of his innermost thoughts, of
everything he held dear. His chest had been ripped open, and his
heart placed on a display cabinet for Alfred and Veronica Ashford
to gawk at.
No, it was not the most pleasant thing.
Especially when it happened to you on an island
overflowing with hideous creatures and armed soldiers and those
psychotic zombies.
Claire please let her be all right. I
don't care what happens to me, or to Alfred, or whoever the
hell else is hanging around here, but just let her be alright. If
there is anyone out there, capable of helping her, aside form
Alfred, then please save her. Protect her.
Steve half expected some sarcastic response
form Alfred to his outburst, but none came. He just wasn't
talking. Maybe he was in trouble. Served him right, really.
Steve wondered briefly if, when he concentrated
on someone, he could hear what they were doing. So if he thought
about Claire, he could listen to her. If he thought about
Veronica, then he would hear what she was doing.
He could hear voices close by, just like he had
when he had overheard the unusual conversation about Alfred and
the T-Veronica virus. It was coming from the prison courtyard, he
guessed. He strained his ears, which until today he hadn't
even known possible, and tried to overhear what they were saying.
"A plane landed at the airport?"
"Yes sir. A small plane, that couldn't
carry more than four people. It looked more like a tourist plane.
You know, the kind that does sight seeing trips. Should I send
some men to investigate?
"No, don't bother. They'll
turn up eventually. Besides, the zombies will have found them by
the time we do. No, we'll just leave them. Let nature take
its course," he laughed.
"Yes sir."
"Any luck at the palace?"
"Not yet sir. We have discovered a
passageway into some sort of private residence, but the
passageway is heavily blocked by rubble. We don't stand a
chance of getting through."
"Hmm. Luckily for you I know there is a
complex sewer system beneath the island. You can probably use
that for a way in there. It might not be safe though. Make sure
you are all fully armed. I don't want us to suffer any more
casualties."
"Thank you sir."
"But first, come with me. I have a
hunch that the prison has not displayed all of its wealth
yet."
"Excuse me sir?"
"It doesn't matter. Follow
me."
Steve raised his eyebrows. They were definitely
the same men he had heard before. There was something in the
leader's voice, something cold and hard, that made it
terrifying to hear. He wished he had a face to go with the
terrifying voice.
She was shrouded in darkness; she flaunted it
like an ermine robe. Her eyes sparkled malevolently. "Oh,
Steve... Where is my dear Alexia? Please, send my children home.
Can't you see how lonely I am becoming without them?"
"Damn it!" Steve snarled, punching
the air. "Why does she keep doing that?"
His head felt sore and swollen. He leaned
gratefully against the wall, closing his eyes, desperate for
rest.
The door suddenly slammed open, crashing back
against the door and sending a shudder down Steve's spine.
His eyes opened blearily, and he reached his hand out for the
Magnum.
"Alfred?" he asked automatically.
It wasn't Alfred.
Two men stood before him, both armed with
enhanced handguns and wearing bulky combat clothes. One man stood
calmly in the background, his gun pointing confidently at Steve.
His eyes were covered with sunglasses, and his curly red hair was
covered with a mauve beret.
The man standing closest to Steve, and eyeing
him with uncommon keenness, was one of the strongest men Steve
had ever seen. His muscles bulged under his muddy military gear,
and his mouth was curled into a sneer. His deep brown eyes seemed
to shimmer as Steve looked at them.
It looked like Steve had found the face that
went with the voice.
"Oh shit," Steve breathed.
---
Hunk strode along cheerfully, his gun pointing
casually in front of him, his finger resting lightly on the
trigger. Alfred slunk along beside him, his face sullen.
Alfred suddenly stopped walking and staggered
backwards, gasping for breath.
Hunk turned and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Sir?" he asked, approaching Alfred carefully.
"Something wrong?"
Alfred gazed up at him, his face pale. Well,
paler than usual, Hunk noted. "Hunk Something's
happened to Steve," he muttered.
"Steve would be whom?" Hunk asked,
folding his arms and staring evenly at Alfred. "I don't
know any Steve."
"Steve is my bodyguard," Alfred
replied slowly, his pale eyes narrowing. "I mentioned him in
my email, didn't I?"
Hunk glanced upwards. "Yeah, you did. He's
doing a mighty fine job, if you don't mind me saying so
Alfred. Where the hell is he?"
"I left him in the prison. I thought it
would be safer for him there. He's got a gun, after
all." He noticed the curious look Hunk was giving him.
"He kinda fainted. He's been having problems like that
ever since he died," he explained casually, standing up
straight
Hunk raised both eyebrows. "He died. Uh
huh. Well, I'm not going to pretend that I know what you're
talking about, sir. But that's not important. What's
happened to him? And how do you know?"
Alfred walked onwards in silence for a while,
forcing Hunk to trot to keep up with him. "I think some
people from the other company have found him," he admitted
finally, staring up at Hunk. "I have a well, a sixth
sense, I guess."
"That so. You into that superstition crap
then?"
Alfred grinned. "Hell no," he said
dryly, and stalked away.
Hunk stared after him, confused. He didn't
understand Alfred one bit. But that wasn't the issue here,
he decided, and strode after him, his gun trained on the path
ahead.
---
She knocked twice on the heavy oak door,
listening carefully for a reply. Hatton the butler hovered
uncertainly behind her, his face lined with worry. She knew that
Hatton's master was not very well, and he probably wouldn't
see another summer go by.
"Come in," croaked a voice from
inside uncertainly, his voice muffled by the door to a state of
distortion. But perhaps that was how he spoke all the time.
Veronica pushed the door open cautiously, and
stepped inside. The old man was lying in his bed, clothed in
thick embroidered robes, his wrinkled face twisted into an
expression of agony. She wanted to reach out to him, comfort him,
and let him know that someone cared. It would be a lie though.
Nobody cared about him. He was dying alone and without an heir,
abandoned in a four-poster bed. She wasn't going to go that
way. That much was definite. She would live on in the hearts and
minds of her descendants, and inspiration to them all
"My, dear, dear child," he croaked,
smiling weakly. "How are you feeling? I was so sorry to hear
about your mother. Such a sweet woman."
Veronica scowled at his insensitivity, and
quickly replaced it with a small smile. "I am coping as well
as could be expected. Thank you for enquiring."
He smiled at her warmly, his eyes never leaving
hers. Veronica didn't look at him. It was such a shock to
see how this man had aged. Just a few years ago he had been a
benevolent pillar in her life, a person to look up to. Rich,
respected, living in splendour. But everyone has to grow old some
time.
He had been a close friend of her grandmothers
and, Veronica suspected, a lover too. But they had gone their
separate ways, and instead of drifting away from the family, he
had stayed close, lending financial support through the rough
times, and being a more dependable father figure for Veronica's
mother than her own father.
And now he was dying. So after Veronica's
mother died he had insisted that she come and stay with him, and
give him a little company to live out his last days. Veronica
shifted uncomfortably, and the old man indicated a chair by his
bed. She sat down gratefully, and smiled nervously.
"My dear Veronica I am growing
old."
Veronica looked at him properly, his blazing
green eyes finally meeting hers. "Yes," she replied,
uncertain how to respond to such a remark.
"I must make precautions. I don't
want my precious estate to fall into the wrong hands, or to some
dimwit relative I have never met. Do you understand, my
dear?"
"I think so."
"I am asking for permission to adopt
you."
"Adopt me?" she asked, shocked.
"But sir!"
"No, no, don't argue until I have had
chance to explain." He leant back on the pillow, breathing
heavily. "You are the dearest thing in the world to me
I want to make us both happy in the inevitable event of my
death You can retain your own name Ashford And
the estate will, in time, belong to you. You will have complete
freedom to do as you please"
Veronica's eyes sparkled. "I would
love that dearly. It is so kind of you to even consider such an
offer."
"Hush!" he hissed, flapping a
withered arm at her. "Don't thank me. Will you permit
this? Would you consider becoming my daughter, if only for a
short while?"
"It would be the greatest gift anybody
could give to me father." Veronica smiled, her eyes
gleaming. This was indeed a stroke of luck.
---
So, Steve reflected thoughtfully, rubbing
furiously at his eyes. So that was how the Ashford legend had
begun. Some old guy on the verge of death looking to continue his
bloodline. Not quite as glamorous as he had always expected. He
wondered briefly if Alfred knew, and made a point to bring it up
with him later. Right now he had more important things to worry
about.
One of the two men, the weaker looking one with
curly red hair was leaning over him, and the expression on his
face reminded Steve greatly of a pig with a bee up its nose.
"Oh, you decided to join us in the world
of the living," he sneered, looking up at his boss for
confirmation.
The larger man strode over and looked down at
Steve, his huge lip curling in disgust. "Be a man," he
growled. "For Christ's sake. What the fuck did ya faint
for?"
"Long story," Steve replied quietly,
his voice sounding unusually frail. "Don't think you'd
have the mental capacity to understand it."
The big man laughed. "Oh, a comedian. What
luck." He leaned forwards again, his face expressionless.
"Where is Alfred?" he asked.
"Who?" Steve replied, shrugging.
"Seeing as I don't know who you mean, he could be
anywhere. He could even be dead. How should I know?"
"Mr Walsh, sir, who is this boy?" the
smaller man asked.
Walsh shrugged, his overly large muscles
rippling under his shirt. "Maybe one of those tourists from
the plane." He grinned. "But, kid, we know that you
know where Alfred Ashford is. You said his name when we came
in," he growled. "So you really don't have a leg
to stand on."
Steve smiled weakly. "Oh, you noticed? I'm
impressed. Your ears are actually connected to your brain,
then?"
Walsh, if that really was his name, was about
to reply, when a horribly familiar sound burst from the
passageway.
"Please deposit any metallic items you
have in the security box."
There was dead silence. Steve groaned quietly. Stupid,
stupid, stupid, he thought furiously. Alfred is gonna get
himself killed!
The smaller guy stood up and held his gun out,
an awful grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we got
us some company," he sneered.
Walsh nodded. "The bait caught the
fish," he said, with a wink at Steve.
"Screw that," Alfred's voice
sounded suddenly. "I have metal buttons on, and I'm not
going butt naked." There was a whirring sound, and some
lights flickered.
Alfred must have powered down the metal
detector, Steve realised with horror. After all, he owns
the place; he probably knows how to get past every obstacle,
although he doesn't show it that often. Heh most of
the time he acts like a headless chicken.
Steve looked around for his Magnum, now that
the two men had their full attention on the door through which
Alfred would surely emerge. He spotted it eventually, lying
forgotten underneath the desk. It would be impossible for him to
crawl to the other side of the room without them noticing. His
heart fell. Alfred is gonna get himself killed, and then they'll
kill me and then they'll, oh, I don't know, kill
everyone else on this stupid island. Why can't anything go
right? he reflected bitterly. Why can't my gun be
close by, so I could save Alfred? Why am I bothered? he asked
himself. "Why am I so bothered if Alfred lives or dies?
Because he is my friend, of a sort.
Alfred wandered casually through the door. His
face didn't register any surprise when he saw the two armed
men in front of him, likewise when he noticed Steve lying on the
floor.
"We've got you now, Ashford,"
Walsh growled, waving the gun menacingly.
"Oh, well done," Alfred sighed
sarcastically. "What do you want, a medal? And I made it so
difficult for you as well. I'm impressed."
The smaller guy moved forwards with a growl,
evidently planning to do something to Alfred that involved his
gun, Alfred's head, and a lot of blood.
"Leave it," Walsh warned, cutting him
off. "Hand over the T-Veronica virus," he barked to
Alfred. "Hand it over now and we'll spare your
friend."
Alfred patted his pockets with mock anxiety.
"Oh, gee, did I leave it in my other trousers? I'd
forget my own head if it weren't screwed on."
"Are you saying you don't have
it?" Walsh asked calmly, his gun so close to Alfred's
head that it was almost touching. There was a long silence.
Alfred looked at him thoughtfully. "Well
yeah, guess I am." He smiled. "I know where it is
though. It's on the printing desk through this door. Good
hiding place, don't you think?" He watched as his
statement sunk in.
"I'll get it," Walsh growled to
his companion.
The young redhead nodded obediently, and he
trained his handgun on Alfred's head. He waved the gun,
indicating Alfred to move aside. Alfred did so, surprisingly
complacent, his eyes downcast yet his mouth twisted into a smile.
Walsh barged through the doorway and slammed
the door behind him. Alfred tutted quietly. The redhead frowned.
"Shut up," he snapped at Alfred, and
risked a glance at Steve, still sitting motionless against the
wall, his head resting on his knees.
The door opened behind them. The redhead turned
around, forgetting Steve and Alfred, surprised at the intrusion.
Hunk stood in the doorway, smiling
thoughtfully, the beginnings of a frown etched into his forehead.
Before the redhead could react, Hunk raised his sub-machine gun
and fired sixteen shots into the man's chest in quick
succession, each bullet sending the man skidding further
backwards, until his lifeless body slumped against the wall,
outlined in blood.
Hunk lowered the gun. "Hmm," he
muttered. "Gory."
---
And it's all over, folks. Sorry about that
rather hurried shooting scene with Hunk. I'm no expert on
weaponry, you know... Tune in soon for Chapter Three. I
guarantee that it will have even more Veronica, Hunk explaining
the truth behind his mission, Alfred's insanity catching up
with him, and that evil Walsh getting his revenge
You won't want to miss it. (Right? I'm
not above bribery, you know.) So tell me what you think, and what
you want to happen; End it! End it now!' And just how
much you wish I would finish this stupid thing. See you around!