Once the faucets were sealed, which didn’t take long, they commenced the larger operation of sealing off the rest of the apartment. They began with the obvious suspects: windows, window frames, and balcony doors, sealing them with a combination of heavy-duty duct tape and dust sheets from their recent move. Within a couple of hours the apartment resembled a crime scene. The plastic sheets covering the balcony doors thrashed back and forth with each fluctuation of the wind outside, crackling loudly.
“Shit,” said Dan, placing his hand to the side of the door. “You feel that?”
Lucy copied, and felt a light breeze tickle her palm. She thumped the wall in frustration. “God dammit!”
It wasn’t airtight. They assessed the situation, looking for their mistake.
“What if we sealed them from the outside?” suggested Dan, pointing to the balcony doors. “We could climb out through the kitchen window?”
“And let a bunch of those seed things in while it’s open?” frowned Lucy. “No way. Besides, we’d have to step in them too, and open the window again to get back in. Too much of a risk.”
With no better alternatives available, they added a second layer of shrink-wrapping to all of their windows and doors, double-taping the seams this time.
By early afternoon they had double-sealed off everything apart from the front door. And yet it was all moot if they couldn’t address two remaining problems: the issue of creating a filtered air vent, and creating an “airlock” so that they could enter and exit the apartment without compromising it. They sat in silence for a minute, contemplating the next step. Dan’s stomach groaned loudly; it had been sixteen hours since their last meal.
“My work!” exclaimed Lucy, her eyes all lit up. “How did I not think of it before?”
Dan looked nonplussed; the connection to her advertising job clearly wasn’t jumping out at him.
“We were filming a commercial – before the satellites failed,” she elaborated, “and the cast were in hazmat suits. I think the suits are still at the office!”
Dan’s eyes lit up. “Are you sure they were real? They weren’t just props?”
“No, they’re real! We got them on loan from a pesticide company. Come on!” she said, jumping up and pulling on her jacket, swaying slightly with a head rush.
“How will we get there?” asked Dan, getting to his feet a little more cautiously.
Lucy chucked him a cycle helmet. “How do you think?” Her hidden smile pushed the mask upwards at the sides of her face.
***
The two-mile cycle to Lucy’s work was surreal. Visibility had improved since the morning, as the number of seeds floating in the wind had eased. But the soft, sepia carpet had become damp overnight, and slippery. Both Lucy and Dan nearly came off their bikes as they initially underestimated the treachery of the surface. The fluff was reducing to clumps, and the mustard shade turning translucent.
In their haste, neither of them had mentally prepared for the new rows of bodies they’d see lining each street they passed. The buses were emptier, too, presumably a combination of people staying home out of fear, or their occupants steadily dwindling in number as the disease spread. The most disturbing sight, however, was the collapsed body of a soldier; a crumpled heap of camouflage, his limbs twisted, wrists bent over, fingers sticking out at jarring angles. His tortured face was mostly concealed as it kissed the asphalt beneath his mask. Seeds had begun to land on his uniform, making it hard to judge how long he’d been there.
Lucy swallowed grimly, suppressing her vomit reflex, the acidic aftertaste lingering at the back of her mouth long after they passed the soldier’s wilted body. That his uniform had meant nothing to the disease, that the people here to protect them were themselves just as vulnerable as she was … She shivered and pushed the pedals harder. Most disturbing was that his body hadn’t been collected by his fellow soldiers. If the military couldn’t survive this thing, then how were the two of them going to make it?
They arrived at her workplace, an otherwise deserted stretch of the city. With no residential population here, it was one of the few streets not adorned with corpses. The large glass doors to the lobby were locked shut, so Dan hurled a trash can at them several times. It created an almighty racket. Lucy’s relief was immense when the glass finally gave way on the fourth attempt, leaving them free to tiptoe through the shards and inside. The intruder alarm stayed silent, neutered by the lack of electricity. Lucy gave a guilty glance at the empty concierge desk, mentally apologizing to the absent custodians for vandalizing their lobby.
They brought the bikes just inside the glass building and propped them up against the internal wall before heading up the main stairs, soon reaching Lucy’s company’s offices on the third floor. She instinctively tried her swipe card, which had no effect. Again, Dan smashed the door into the office, this time using a nearby fire extinguisher and succeeding in one deft blow. The glass crunched beneath their feet as they crossed into the otherwise silent space. Her deserted open-plan office stretched before them, filled with defunct Mac Pros, ergonomic desk chairs, and un-watered pot plants.
“This way,” she said, leading down the central avenue towards a partitioned section at the end. Something in the periphery of her vision moved.
“What was that?” she said, spinning around to face the staff lounge.
“What was what?” said Dan, looking from Lucy to the lounge.
“I thought I saw … Nothing, it was just a rat. I saw its tail disappearing. It’s fine, I’m not scared of them, I just wasn’t expecting it. I guess it’s found the food in the staff kitchen. Come on, this way,” she said, continuing forwards.
“Looks like you’ve got a leak in the staff area – there’s water on the floor,” said Dan, catching up. “You should get it checked out when this place reopens.”
The studio door opened without resistance, revealing an array of green screens, soft boxes, and cameras mounted on tripods, all entirely redundant without power.
“There they are!” exclaimed Lucy, spotting the props rack to the side of the room where three yellow-and-white hazmat suits hung in pristine condition. Their creased, shiny arms draped limply above the face shields, gloves, and black wellie boots piled below.
She and Dan quickly crossed over to the rack and immediately began kicking off their shoes.
“Wait,” said Dan, who was about to plunge a leg into the suit he was holding, “do these go over our clothes or are they instead of them?”
Lucy tried to recall how they’d done everything in the advert. “I imagine they’ll get pretty hot – they’re basically all plastic. So maybe just underwear and a T-shirt?”
“OK: minimal base layer,” agreed Dan. He dropped the suit and began wrestling his jeans off. Lucy hesitated for a moment, recalling the order of layers, then began doing the same.
The suit shell was essentially a plasticized onesie: a single garment from top to toe. Lucy pulled each leg on, then the arms, wriggling the top half over her shoulders and into place before pulling the front zipper up from her navel to her chin.
“Like this.” She reached across and tucked Dan’s zip beneath the Velcro safety flap on the collar. “Grab a mask and goggles,” she said, pointing him to the three piles on the floor.
“Haven’t they been used?” he hesitated.
“Only way before the outbreak. They’re better quality than these, though, surely?” she said, tapping her existing mask. “You ready?” She picked up two of the specialist breathing filters and handed one to Dan.
“Ready,” he confirmed.
They ripped off their cheap face masks and goggles, discarding them onto the floor by their shoes. Lucy wrestled the new face mask over her nose and mouth. It was thicker, and marginally harder to breathe through. The goggles, however, were a definite improvement; broader than a snorkeling mask, they significantly improved her field of vision compared to the narrow, misty swimming pair she’d set off with.
“All good?” asked D
an, adjusting his straps.
“I think so,” said Lucy, still adapting to the new breathing filter. “Hoods next,” she added, pulling hers on. The elasticated lip kept the hood snug against her forehead and cheeks, fully covering her hairline and ears.
She grabbed the long rubber gloves and pulled a pair on while Dan fussed over his hood positioning. They were as long as her forearm.
“You tape me in, then I’ll do you,” she said, passing him some silver duct tape.
He taped around both glove holes – just below the elbow – so that each glove was properly sealed to her suit. Lucy swiftly reciprocated, sealing Dan in.
They both affixed the hard-plastic visors, which shielded their faces from ear to ear, extending from forehead to below the chin. Lastly, they pulled on a pair of black wellies each, taping them to their suit legs.
“How d’ya like my new threads?” said Dan, strutting around her in a circle.
Lucy laughed. “You look ridiculous.”
“What? I look sick! I look like a riot cop,” he added with a proud nod, still strutting.
“You look like a beekeeper,” she retorted. “How’s your breathing?” she asked, noticing the slight mist her breath generated against the inside of her visor.
“Fine. Though these boots are a little small. What d’you wanna do about our clothes?” he replied, pointing to the discarded pile next to them.
Approaching voices made them both spin around.
“People!” hissed Lucy, her heart rate soaring.
The voices were close enough to be in the open-plan office now.
“Quickly!” urged Lucy, heading straight for the emergency exit on the far side of the studio. The voices got closer still, with shouts of “Hello?” echoing through the hallway.
Lucy kicked the emergency exit bar open. The door swung out onto the fire escape, hitting the railing behind with a clang and bouncing back. Catching the rebound with her hand, she leapt out onto the small platform, turning to check Dan was with her.
“Dan, quick!” she cried as the two figures burst into the studio.
Limping towards them at speed was her boss, Myles, with his petite blonde girlfriend glued to his elbow.
“Hey!” yelled Myles, leading the advance. His voice was muffled by a face mask, but his eyes were daggers and his fists were balled. “Stop right there! This is private prop–”
It wasn’t clear whether he’d recognized them or not in the suits, but Lucy was willing to bet that at this stage it wouldn’t make a difference – he needed the suits as much as they did.
“Go!” she cried, slamming the fire door shut. Dan threw himself at the rusty fire-escape ladder and Lucy followed. The cumbersome attire hampered their speed. Dan jumped the last few steps and landed on the steel platform below with a clatter, prompting Lucy to copy.
“Come on!” he shouted back, already starting down the next level. Lucy kept as close as possible without crushing his retreating hands underfoot. The studio fire exit crashed open again with a clang. Lucy scrambled down the steps as fast as she could, glancing up to see Myles stumbling out onto the platform above. He glared over the edge at them, and for a split second she thought she saw recognition in his eyes before he vanished. The clattering of rapid footsteps on the ladder above signaled the hunt was on, as he began to chase after them.
Lucy looked back down and concentrated on the descent; Dan had reached the last rungs of the bottom ladder and it was a big drop now. He hit the solid ground below with a thud, but managed to stay on both feet.
“Come on, Luce!” he yelled, gesturing for her to jump.
She looked up and saw Myles’s hand sweep over the side of the platform two levels up as he raced to the next ladder. She cast her eyes downward again and jumped, Dan catching her as she stumbled forward. He grabbed her hand and they ran towards the front of the building.
“Look!” cried Lucy as they rounded the corner. “That’s Myles’s car!” she said, pointing at the stationary vehicle across the road. “It wasn’t there before!”
“How the hell is he still driving?” cried Dan, gasping for breath as they charged back into the lobby.
“No idea – watch the glass!” shouted Lucy, as they darted over to their bikes and ripped them from the wall.
“Hey! Stop!” yelled a voice from above them in the lobby. Jennifer was at the top of the staircase, clutching the third hazmat suit. “I said stop!” she screamed, all timidity vanishing as she hurried down the stairs towards them.
Dan hurled both bikes outside, over the shards, and the pair scrambled after them.
“Let’s go!” he yelled, snatching his bike from the ground and leaping onto it. Lucy didn’t need telling twice. The pair took off fast, hurtling down the slippery sidewalk and onto the road.
Dan swerved to the side a little as he looked over his shoulder.
“OK, this is bad!” he cried, as she pulled level.
Lucy glanced backward; Myles had made it down the fire escape and now he and Jennifer were converging on the car.
“This way!” yelled Dan, pulling ahead again and swerving left. Myles’s revving engine projected his fury down the street.
Dan hooked into a side street that was too narrow for cars. Lucy followed him, barely avoiding skidding off the bike as she took the corner at speed, pulling her front wheel up as they mounted the sidewalk. Wheelspin echoed around the otherwise silent district as Myles released his handbrake, hurtling down the slushy road towards them.
Lucy kept glancing backward as they sped down the alleyway, her hot, rapid breathing fogging up the visor. Myles’s car raced past the turning they’d taken and out of sight, audibly skidding around the parallel block.
The light at the end of the alleyway grew closer as the pair peddled desperately, racing to emerge before Myles could cut them off.
A series of gunshots rang out from ahead, followed by the screech of car brakes under immense strain. A military truck sped past the backstreet opening, giving a fleeting glimpse of three uniformed soldiers, the last of whom was mounting the gun turret. Dan slammed on his brakes, Lucy did the same, and they came to a stop just yards from the opening. Not daring even to peer out of the alley, Lucy looked at Dan and suddenly realized how conspicuous their outfits were.
“Myles could be telling the patrol we stole the suits!” she gasped.
“We’ve gotta turn back!” said Dan, struggling to regulate his volume in the panic.
Lucy spun her bike around, setting off the way they’d come, her legs screaming from oxygen debt. She pushed on, forcing the cranks around until she reached the original entrance to the passage again. Stopping, she peered out cautiously onto the street ahead: it was deserted.
“You lead,” gasped Dan. “You know this area best.”
***
More than an hour passed as they weaved through a patchwork of slippery, undulating backstreets, avoiding the main roads.
“Dan,” said Lucy, halting atop a hilly road overlooking the water. “Look – the beach.”
Covering the sand were piles of dead, washed-up marine life, all coated in glistening yellow liquid. The yellow waters were themselves now textured by a layer of fluffy golden seeds growing on top. The seeds drifted inland in their thousands as the wind scooped up the never-ending supply and spread it across the city.
“You hear that?” said Lucy, as a chopping sound approached.
A helicopter came into view. It was flying slowly, and trailing a rigid cable a few meters above the water surface.
“What is that?” she asked, squinting.
“It looks like they’re dropping something onto the water – maybe a pesticide or something?” said Dan, peering out with his hand raised to his brow.
The helicopter began a vertical climb of several hundred feet, and retracted the cable. A bright light appeared on the open side of the helicopter as a flare was tossed downward, tumbling through the air.
The second it hit the water surface, the entire
seafront erupted in flame. The helicopter took off out of sight as Lucy and Dan stared on in amazement. The flames, meters tall, engulfed the oily-yellow scum, cloaking the coastline in fire and thick black smoke.
“You reckon that’s gonna work?” asked Lucy, as her eyes glazed over, mesmerized by the lapping flames.
“I reckon it’s gonna wipe out the pier,” said Dan, turning his bike around and pushing off.
***
As they continued their improvised route home, it became clear that the seafront wasn’t the only place fire was being tactically deployed. Lucy and Dan watched as the military used a flamethrower to burn seeds that had been piled up in the middle of a residential street. A fire truck stood on duty, ready to intervene, while the surviving residents watched on fearfully from their doorsteps, many with wrapped bodies at their feet.
The hazmat suits made for sweaty work. Lucy and Dan’s rate of pedaling had dropped significantly now that they were clear of Myles. Lucy was keen to keep her breathing rate low whenever possible, to avoid exacerbating the mask’s resistance.
As they locked their bikes up at the side of their building later that afternoon, Lucy’s eye was drawn to the paving. “What the … Dan, is this stuff growing?”
“Don’t get too close!” he warned, as Lucy knelt down to investigate.
Protruding through the mustard-colored layer of spores was a sapling. It was wet, and its green-yellow leaves were covered in beads of moisture.
“That makes no sense,” said Lucy, standing back up. “It’s gotta be nearly five o’clock, and this area’s been in the sun for the whole afternoon. Yet the ground’s still wet, and this plant’s wet. No,” she corrected, quickly, “the ground’s dry. It’s the seeds that are wet.”
“Maybe they retain moisture?” suggested Dan, who had remained standing up. “A lot of plants do.”
“Not on the outside they don’t,” she countered. “Not in direct sunlight, and to this extent.”
“Maybe it’s not water, then?” considered Dan. “It could be something else – something that doesn’t evaporate as easily?”
Convulsive Box Set Page 9