It moved, it attacked, and it ate. There was no other reason for Sid(Z) to be. Despite its lack of consciousness, Sid(Z) was more focused in its mission than the humans it chased.
There was a subtle shift in the crowd around it, the zombies ahead moving onto a wider road. The horde had been moving aimlessly for the last few hours, going in an ever-expanding circle, adding more soldiers to the ranks while abandoning those who had become too damaged. Like with the rats, broken human carcasses lay squirming on the pavements and streets, legs and spines smashed. The individual was irrelevant, all that mattered was growing and expanding their reach and their numbers. They went where the humans were, and those that couldn’t keep up were left to their own devices, acting almost like a rear-guard to defend the streets the undead had already claimed.
There was a push behind Sid(Z), the crowd suddenly surging forward. Sid(Z) almost fell, which would have likely been the end of it. Behind it were thousands of bodies, all of whom wouldn’t have hesitated to crush any fallen zombie beneath an array of boots, shoes and bare feet. With the undead, it truly was survival of the fittest. And yet there was no individuality. They worked together, but only on a primitive level that served the greater good of the group.
Their prey should have run…but where was there to run to? No matter where man tried to hide, the legions of the damned would find them. And when that happened, it was only a matter of time for the last of humanity to fall. On occasion though their prey fought back.
The sound was alien to Sid(Z)’s rotting mind, but it sensed the danger it represented. Ahead in the road, a tank appeared. The FV4034 Challenger 2 main battle tank was perhaps one of the most formidable weapons the British had against the undead. It was impervious to even the strongest zombie, hard composite armour plating over steel that was more than a match for the pliant remnants of human anatomy. The zombies still attacked it though, it was the only thing they knew to do.
There was meat in them there tin cans, so why not try and pry it out.
The tank rode towards the mob which charged back in return. There was no self-regard in their ranks, and dozens of them quickly fell as the heavy treads of the beast crushed them under its 62-tonne mass. Any creature run over was squashed flat, smeared across the road surface, making the way slick for those lucky enough to escape the onslaught. Some were not destroyed in their entirety, the legs merely removed from torsos that flopped around on the ground helplessly.
Even worse, the bullets from the mounted L94A1 chain gun ripped into those undead that massed around the tank, tracer rounds biting into torsos and cutting off limbs. There were thousands of zombies though, more than the tank could ever hope to deal with alone. It wasn’t a lone wolf however, a second tank appearing. Together, the two tanks represented an unstoppable force against a foe that, at first glance, had no apparent way to harm them. To those inside the tanks, the only danger posed by the undead would come when the tanks ran out of diesel and ammunition. Then, they would become expensive metal tombs that their crews would either die in or emerge to try one last heroic stand.
They wouldn’t be running out of fuel any time soon though, and the L31 HESH high explosive round the second tank fired bit deep into the zombies’ numbers, literally obliterating nearly a dozen undead. Still, the zombies attacked the first tank, climbing on board, safe from its guns and its treads. The partner tank freely fired its machine gun at those trying to scale the first beast, the sound of ricochets of no concern to the desperate soldiers trying to wipe out this particular infestation.
The tank had weaknesses, however. One of its vulnerabilities was its ability to see. From where he sat, the tank Commander and the gunner had an array of ways to view the outside world from the panoramic SAGEM VS 580-10 gyro stabilised sight to the commander’s eight periscopes, giving three hundred and sixty direct vision. As the zombies climbed atop the tank’s turret, all the Commander saw were the clawing faces of the undead, his vision slowly eradicated as the bullets of his counterpart caused congealed blood and decomposing guts to clings to every external surface. It wasn’t long before the tank was driving blind and it was forced to halt, despite its impressive bulk. Reversing course, the tank retreated along the path it had instigated, guided over the radio by the Commander of the second tank.
Already the undead were charging at that second tank intent on wreaking the same havoc as they did with the first. Sid(Z) didn’t go with them, its attention still on the initial tank. A writer might say it wanted to pluck open these metal contraptions and suck the marrow from the humans inside, whereas, in reality, all Sid(Z) wanted was to end the sorrow that clawed and scraped throughout its entire being. Not just limited to where the stomach was, now every decaying cell screamed with the need for human flesh, the zombies becoming more desperate the older they got.
The virus knew how to defend itself as it had been built to do. Even tanks were clearly no match for it. With no other real option, the two tanks began to disengage, retreating away from the zombies.
23.08.19
Manchester, UK
Already the symptoms had started. She could feel the walls collapsing in on her, the need for any kind of alcohol crawling into every fibre of her being. She had a pounding headache, one that was steadily worsening rather than getting better. This was past the symptoms of the hangover now, full alcohol withdrawal setting in. She was going to suffer, she knew she was.
Maybe she deserved it, though. Susan had no idea where that notion had come from, but there it was, floating heavily in her mind. It was partly the anxiety setting in, but also a belief that had been building ever since her daughter’s body was dragged out of the canal. Susan felt she had failed as a parent, hadn’t kept the wolf from kidnapping and ruining the one thing she loved above all else. As a failure, deep down, Susan believed she deserved to be punished, but not to this extent. This was too much. Zombies, Clay, having to be rescued by Brian time and again, a man who constantly reminded her of her dead husband. It wasn’t just that Brian looked like him, but he was also a glaring example of how weak her husband had been. To commit suicide and abandon Susan like that just when she needed someone, anyone, to be there for her.
She hadn’t been worthy of anything. She hadn’t been enough to save the life of her daughter, and she hadn’t been enough to keep her husband from ending it all. A failure, there was no other word for it. A failure with an addiction to drink, which was a slow way to kill herself. And now even that was being denied to her.
There was nothing in this room to occupy her mind with. All she had were her thoughts, and they were far from friendly to her. In her head, a carnival of self-deprecation had eaten up any form of self-esteem, and it continued unhindered now, her feelings descending towards the pit. The blackness of final surrender was beckoning to her, she could feel its pull. The pain wasn’t worth it anymore, the need to vomit like a toothache in her gut. It was there constantly, coming in waves with no apparent relief on the horizon and with no way to cure it. Well, there was one way, but she had no access to that.
She stood from the bed on shaking feet, the warmth in the room not preventing the shivers that were rippling along almost every muscle. This was it, she was at the end, and stepping forward to the mirror above the room’s dresser, she picked up an ornate ashtray and smashed the glass, sending her reflection into countless fragments. Most of the broken glass stayed in place, but a single long and lethal shard fell away as if enticing Susan to do what needed to be done.
Susan looked at the fragile, six-inch dagger, knew its edges would be razor sharp. She could do this, should have done it from the very start, her husband showing her the way. It would have saved her so much pain, but she had been too determined to cling on then. Why? Why had she chosen the slow death of imbidement? Susan didn’t have the answer to that, and she plucked the mirror’s lance between two trembling fingers. One last bath, one last warm, relaxing ride as the blood flowed out of the wounds that would take mere seconds to inflict. She could d
o this, had to do it because there was no way she could endure any longer. The drink had been the only thing keeping her alive.
The door to her room opened, and Viktor walked in.
“We cannot allow such foolishness,” he said. He noticed how Susan gingerly held the glass, witnessed its length. Any minute she could charge him with it as a weapon. Most likely he would be able to disarm her, but what if she got in a lucky strike? Only four inches would protrude if she clutched it, but those four inches might break off within his body, fracturing further inside him.
“Fuck YOU,” Susan suddenly screamed. He could see her building up, pent on some form of destruction. He had been forced to intervene because he had seen this before, knew that suicide was minutes away. Viktor had always told Clay that the mirrors needed to be removed from the room and the bathroom adjoining it, but Clay would have none of that.
“I like them to be able to see what they have become” was all Clay would say.
Viktor reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a hip flask. It was half full, enough to take away the growing torment that was building within Susan. Slowly and deliberately, he unscrewed the top. He took his time, noting how she watched his actions. Viktor had taken the vodka bottles, but had left the glasses, and, wary of the woman who could turn violent at any moment, he moved over to the table where the glasses were. The Scotch poured out like liquid heaven, Susan’s eyes brightening with what she was witnessing. The glass shard dropped from her fingers, her mind almost going into spasm at the relief that was being offered to her.
She still knew she needed to end it all, but did that have to be done now?
Viktor stepped back. He really should have replaced the glass mirrors with something that didn’t break, but it wouldn’t make any difference. If someone wanted to kill themselves, there was always a way. What was needed was vigilance, and it was fortunate that Viktor had been looking at the surveillance monitor at the time Susan broke the glass. So there it was, the proof that this woman had to be taken at a slower pace. She had just displayed her willingness to spoil the game, he had seen it in her eyes. That was an important piece of the puzzle that was this woman’s mind.
“Your ration,” Viktor said, indicating the glass. “Please, do not break things.” Stepping back, he watched with fascination as Susan rushed over to the glass. Now she was disarmed, he had nothing to fear from her, and stepping past her, he stooped to pick up the weapon she had dropped. Carefully he placed it in his pocket. As for the broken mirror, he detached it from the wall and took it with him when he left, mindful to keep the pieces from falling. Briefly, he stood in the door, watching with mild amusement as Susan sipped at the beverage, perhaps in the hope of making it last.
“I will bring you more later,” Viktor said, “if you promise to behave.”
“I promise,” Susan said. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he would keep a vigilant watch on her. He had almost messed this one up which wouldn’t have done him many favours with Clay. Now wasn’t the time for Viktor to make any foolish mistakes.
23.08.19
Frederick, USA
Reece woke up groggy, with a headache that would fell a mule. The air around her was bright, too bright in fact, the whole of the ceiling above her one large fluorescent light. She suddenly had the thought that she was some sort of lab experiment under intense scrutiny. The visible surveillance camera just added to that fear.
She would soon learn just how correct that assessment was.
It took a moment for her eyes to get accustomed to the brilliance and it was with alarm that she discovered she was no longer dressed in army fatigues. Instead, she was adorned in what looked like white surgical scrubs, her feet bare, her memory unable to recall how she had even got here. What alarmed her more was the further discovery that she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. Reece had no recollection of undressing voluntarily, which meant whatever Carson had obviously drugged her with had allowed someone to strip her of her clothes and her dignity.
Despite the sparsity of her attire, she felt surprisingly warm, and even though the clothing was clinical in nature, it didn’t prevent the feeling of violation to grow in her heart. How did she know it was even women who had undressed her? If it wasn’t, Reece hoped the bastards had enjoyed the view.
With care, she sat up on the bed she was lying on, noticing the pair of white slippers resting invitingly by where she rested her feet. The bed wasn’t particularly comfortable, just a very basic cot that would just about be superior to lying on the floor. To her right was a metal sink and a metal toilet without a lid. There was also a single and uncomfortable looking metal chair. Other than that, her cell (because that was what it was) was empty. The thought to use that chair as a battering ram briefly came into her mind, but she dispelled it quickly. Whoever had put her here wouldn’t have left the chair if it had any chance of helping her escape.
In all, the cell she was in measured less than nine square metres. Not exactly luxury accommodation, but just enough to swing a cat if she had been in possession of one.
The other thing that was instantly apparent was that she didn’t have any privacy. The floor was tiled, the roof a lit suspended ceiling. Surveillance cameras were in large abundance, one in each of the rooms she could see. There was worse, for all but one of the walls encasing her were transparent. Reece ran her hand over the cold surface of the wall her bed was pushed against. Not glass, so likely some sort of shatterproof Perspex. It also felt too solid, almost like concrete. The walls allowed her to see the other cells that were laid out in two rows separated by a central corridor that had a door at either end of it. From what she could tell, there were twenty cells in all.
It was clear to Reece that she was a prisoner.
In one wall of her containment was a door, and Reece painfully stood so she could examine it. The door itself was made from the same transparent material as the walls, and she thumped it with the meat of her hand. Solid, the seal between the door and the wall clearly airtight, a thin seam of rubber separating the two. The three metal hinges looked out of place, but they told Reece that the door opened inwards. There was even a hatch that she suspected was how she would be fed and Reece found that by pressing on it, the hatch opened towards her. The room contained the basics for her ongoing existence.
What the hell was this? She had never agreed to such confinement.
Reece also wasn’t alone. Two of the other cells were occupied, both of her fellow prisoners seemingly sleeping. A woman and a young girl, the latter curled up facing Reece’s cell. Seriously? They were willing to hold children here? The kid couldn’t have been more than ten years old, and through the long blonde hair, Reece saw a surgical dressing on the side of the child’s head.
The child was in the cell next to hers, the woman directly across the corridor. On closer inspection, she noticed the woman’s cell had what Reece assumed was an identification marker on the outside.
JW32WDC
Similar markings were visible on Reece’s cell, and reading the characters backwards, she got CR28HT. Through the fog of her mind, she was able to deduce what the code meant. CR was Clarisse Reece. 28 was clearly her age and HT? It took her a moment to decipher that one…Houston Texas.
So the person across the way was thirty-two, had the initials JW and likely came from Washington DC. As for the little girl, her initials were EB, aged ten and from LAC, so probably Los Angeles, California. Where the hell were the kid’s parents?
One of the doors on the corridor opened. Nobody entered at first, the door just sitting open, almost taunting Reece. “Wouldn’t you like to go through here?” the door was saying. “If only you could get out of that reinforced, bulletproof box you are in. Such a shame.”
“Hey!” Reece demanded, banging the palms of her hands onto Perspex. For the first time, she noticed the Venflon that Doctor Lee had placed was still stuck in the vein on the back of her hand. Where was Lee now Reece suddenly thought? Hopefully, the doctor
had been treated better than the patient.
A person appeared, dressed in an army uniform. Whoever he was, he was clearly complicit in her abduction and enforced incarceration. But then soldiers always were.
“Goddamnit, let me out,” Reece persisted. Could the soldier even hear her though? The newcomer ignored her calls. Instead he proceeded to wheel a gurney in with a large, seemingly unconscious man strapped down to it. A second soldier appeared, and together they moved the gurney to the cell across the corridor closest to the door they had entered. Although there was no obvious locking mechanism on the cell doors, the first newcomer waved an access card across part of it, activating an invisible mechanism.
Sci-fi incarceration. Your tax dollars at work.
The door unlocked, opening to allow the gurney to be pushed through into the cell. Reece watched as they unstrapped their patient, placing him on the cot that was clearly too small for him. If Reece had to guess, her fellow prisoner was at least six foot five. It also looked like he could do someone some serious damage if he put his mind to it, his upper body a mass of muscle.
With the man deposited, the soldiers took their gurney and left, the cell door they had opened closing behind them automatically. Reece shouted one last time, but as before she was completely ignored by both soldiers. They wouldn’t even acknowledge her presence. Bastards. That would be a word she would use a lot in her mind over the coming days.
Turning back towards her cot, Reece noticed for the first time that the little girl was looking at her. The child had nervous eyes as if she had been witness to the full betrayal that life could unleash upon someone. Hell, perhaps that was exactly what had happened. Why else would she be here?
“Hey,” Reece said.
“Hello,” the girl said, still lying down. Her voice was muffled by the wall, but Reece could hear her well enough. Reece grabbed the chair and placed it down by the wall so she could effectively sit next to the girl. Reece expected the child to flinch, but she didn’t, instead sitting up with her legs crossed. The child looked painfully innocent though, as if she would break into tears at any moment. The young shouldn’t be treated to such indignity.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 3): The Fall Page 12