Weep (Book 1): The Irish Epidemic

by Brady, Eoin

  Windows on the ground level of the house were boarded up and reinforced. A flight of stone steps to the main entrance would unbalance most of the infected and it was narrow enough that they would not gain entry by sheer weight of numbers. At the back of the hall was a marble staircase that split in two beneath the feet of an angel statue. Most of the doors were barricaded, or blocked with a wall of sandbags, fronted with spools of barbed wire. The parquet floor shrieked from the sheer number of people rushing across it. At the top of the staircase, a heavy machine gun on a tripod watched over proceedings.

  Fin had lived in Westport for over a year, but this was his first time inside the house. Electric bulbs on a chandelier lit the grand entrance. Sabres and swords that once decorated the walls now stood in the umbrella stand by the door. Military crates hid every inch of skirting board. Someone, with a macabre sense of festive cheer, had placed boxes of ammunition beneath the Christmas tree.

  Muireann brought him through to a long room with portraits of regal figures. So many windows, it would be a nightmare to defend if the zombies could climb. They walked through a light shower of disinfectant set up outside a field office. It smelled like harsh chemicals and stung when it ran into his eyes.

  Soldiers were gathered around a table laden with computers, radios, helmets, rifles and food. Surrounding them were banks of monitors and people typing into computers. His breath caught when he saw the woman that had shot Ciara back at the hotel, the one that had given him the suicide pills. She showed no sign of recognition when Muireann stood before her. The air felt hot and stale behind his mask. The chemical shower hid the sweat now beading his forehead.

  “I’ve got one for special duty, sir,” Muireann said.

  “Are you infected?” the captain asked.

  Fin shook his head, afraid to speak for fear she would remember the sound of his voice.

  “Take off your mask, I hate them. So long as you don’t sneeze on anybody, you won’t be shot.”

  Fin slowly took it off. She walked around the table and stood before him, a hand outstretched.

  “I’m Denise, but this lot call me Reverend.”

  Fin stammered, unsure if he had already used his real name. He shook her hand and did not give his own. He was not pressed for it. He recognised the soldiers from the back gate: Lynch, who had helped him escape the weepers, and Burke, who had stripped him down, almost hoping to find a bite mark.

  “What we are trying to do is to create a wave breaker. The disease is spreading faster than we can deal with it. There are a lot of untrained bodies here and more weapons than my people have hands to wield. It’s no secret that those that left for Dublin in a panic were stalled in the blockades, stuck in crowds with the disease spreading. They ran from their homes thinking to escape, only to be chased back by it.” She shuddered, though he expected that was theatrics. “We’re in contact with a settlement out on Clare Island. If we fail here, that’s our fallback, but they have about as much interest in having us as we do in being on an island in the Atlantic in winter. We can’t fail here.”

  “I’ve seen people try paddle out there in crab and fish boxes,” Muireann said.

  “I’m recruiting survivors from outside the town to defend the walls. You’d be amazed how calm people can be when they see somebody else in uniform is making the difficult decisions. I need more bodies to keep order. It’s just a contingency plan, in case things get worse. Soldiers aren’t going to continue working when there’s no government or country to defend.”

  She offered Fin a cup of coffee in a polystyrene cup. “This is a safe zone, we want people trained up to keep it that way.”

  Fin did not like that she was telling him all of this. “If things go tits up, won’t this place run out of supplies?” he said. “You want people like me to keep guard on food and things like that?”

  “There are safe zones across the country that foreign governments will continue to drop aid to. We can no longer use the helicopter, draws too much attention. So we get ours from the train from Dublin. That won’t stop. Too many eyes on it for that to happen.”

  Fin knew he would be leaving at the first opportunity, yet he still felt betrayed by these people in uniform who were sworn to protect. But they were just people, they had families like him and loved ones feared lost. If the government collapsed and people did not have to answer to it, then the only hope was that they would listen to their conscience. If he put on a uniform, then he would be their scapegoat when they left.

  “Why not arm the locals?” From the expressions he had seen on people in the camp, he could guess why they were afraid to put weapons in their hands.

  “It will come to that, but could you shoot your father to save your mother?”

  Fin had no answer.

  “Let's find a uniform that fits you, eh?”

  Fin could do nothing but nod. He drank from the cup to let Reverend fill the silence. The only redeeming quality of the coffee was its warmth. They walked by rooms that had been turned into triage and medical centres. I forgot this was a warzone.

  “Right now we need to be productive. Every effort must have a clear benefit –”

  She was interrupted by screaming.

  Fin jumped at the sound. “Was somebody bitten?”

  “Not so much as a scratch, but they’re as good as gone, for all the use they will be to us,” Reverend said.

  They walked down the stairs to the cool air of the basement. Fin felt trapped with Reverend in front, while the other soldiers followed behind, blocking the narrow corridor. The halls were filled with cots beneath iridescent lighting. People curled up with blankets covering their heads, some sleeping under their cots. Others were catatonic.

  Fin tried to mask the deep breaths he took to calm himself. This could have been me.

  “When this ends, the damage and death won’t stop after the last infected body is burned,” Reverend said. “I’m going to ask something of you and neither of us will know what the toll will be down the line. How’s your head?”

  “Not great if I’m honest. I keep thinking I’ll wake up.”

  “Don’t sleep until we see this through, and you just might. Do you have many friends in town?”

  “No, just colleagues at work. The nature of the job meant I did not get to socialise much. Have you had any word from other countries, has it spread? What’s it like in France?”

  “A few occurrences outside of Ireland, but nothing substantial. That’s what they’re reporting. Wouldn’t make sense to create panic, Ireland is a great example of what not to do. I’ve no leverage to hold over you, I can’t ask if you want to give your all to keep the people here safe, but that’s also why I could use your help in this.”

  “Why? What can I do that they can’t?”

  “I wouldn’t ask them to kill their neighbours or be the defining, final moment to faces they’ve known all their lives. Some of the bodies walking around out there have relatives in here. Innocent people have been killed by accident. Keeners mourning over a loved one sounds and looks an awful lot like an infected feeding. I could put guns in their hands and train them to kill, but I would never be able to take enough humanity away from them to get rid of the hesitation, valuable seconds when they must shoot somebody they know. Look around this room. See what this has done to people.” She opened a container of uniforms, eyed his measurements and passed him one that fit. “There are recruits coming down on the train from Dublin today to reinforce our presence here. Our aim is to teach people to defend this position, then I can go find my family.”

  “Technically they are my neighbours too.” Fin let out a sigh. He did not know where to look. Behind him were those too broken by what had happened to function, they had closed themselves off to the world. In front of him was the uniform being offered and the knowledge that he would be taught how to kill. Rebecca cared for him when he stayed in bed for days after Ciara died; these people here were defenceless, those outside hardly better off. George would want to rema
in isolated, but from what he saw, there was no reason to fear this group. So many people working together. They were far safer here than out there alone.

  “I’ll do what I can.” He was not sure if that was a complete lie or a partial one.

  “Good. Burke, Lynch, Foley, take our tourist out with you. Bring him along for the train pickup. Cut his teeth.”

  Muireann and the two other soldiers nodded and parted, leaving Fin to follow. Looking back, he saw Reverend stay behind, listening to the screams.

  Lynch was burly with a shaved head and a wiry ginger beard. Tattoos of colourful cartoon characters on his arms were obscured by bristly hair, except for a well-done portrait of a little girl. He slowed down to walk beside Fin. “The vans didn’t suit you then, no? Have you killed an infected yet?”

  “Probably a stupid question, but when this is over, will there be jail time for killing them? I mean, aren’t they just sick?”

  Lynch ran his hand down his beard. “They’re sicker than any human can be.”

  “There’s your first mistake, they’re no longer human,” Burke said. Dark, lank hair covered his gaunt face. He looked like he belonged in one of the cots lining the room, not with an assault rifle hanging around his neck. “The train will be here in forty minutes. If I could have it unloaded before the wheels stop turning I would. Let's not waste time.”

  Muireann nodded. “Fin, you kill a human, you’ll face sentence and punishment. Jail is a luxury for peace time. But every infected you put down is doing these people and this country a service. We do our job right and there might be a future to thank you.”

  “How will I know the difference between infected and somebody just panicking?”

  She held a finger up and moved it in front of his following eyes to check his vision. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Put your kit on. If they see a civilian going to the train, they might rush it.”

  He dressed quickly in military fatigues and slipped his boots back on without undoing the laces. They did not give him one of the earpiece radios they used, or a weapon. The walk to the main gate was spent listening to Lynch’s instructions on firearm etiquette. Fin’s ears felt like they were ringing, and nothing that he heard made sense, there was too much to take in.

  “New Face?” Muireann said.

  “Sorry.”

  “What was he saying?”

  “Not to shoot any of you?”

  “That’s the gist of it. When we go out it’s goggles and respirators. Any open wounds or scabs you seal them before we leave. Don’t look so worried, we’re doing the work, you’re just a tourist. Noise attracts them, so when we get out there keep chatter to warnings.”

  Donal looked relieved to see Muireann approaching the gate. “Sure took your sweet time.”

  “I’m heading up to the train, you want to switch, while I watch the gate?” Muireann said.

  “No, you’re okay, I’ve nearly gotten the hang of this,” Donal said.

  “Now with the dead ones, you have to be extra careful,” Lynch said to Fin. “They’re slow and unsteady, though don’t trust a headshot, that won’t always keep them down. Famous case of a lad Gage who got a rail rod dynamited through his brain and all it did was change his personality.”

  “And the infected out there are already short on personality,” Burke said.

  “What’s your excuse, Burke?” Lynch asked, winking at Fin.

  Burke pretended not to notice.

  “The weepers are a different story. Their bodies are fighting against the disease and losing. Those I’ve come across seem to want to avoid confrontation at the start, like there’s still a bit of humanity left in them. Whatever it does to the brain, it turns them into beasts after a while, but these ones will go down with a body shot. Aim centre mass. Don’t forget to destroy the brain when it’s down, there have been reports of them still coming back.”

  The main gate into town was the most heavily fortified. Smoke drifted above the walls, acrid and alien in the winter sunlight.

  Civilians in protective gear brought back their salvage. Trucks full of electronics, blankets and clothes lined up to gain entry. A mobile watchtower guarded the gate, a man in the nest had his rifle trained down the road. Workers were mixing cement to reinforce metal beams bracing the walls.

  A group of people refusing to work banded together near the gate. They sat on their luggage, ready for the next train. Some demanded answers when they saw the uniforms approach.

  “Let us on the train,” an old man brandishing a golf club said.

  “My child, my mother, my friend went on the train, I need to go.”

  After a while Fin could no longer match a voice to a face as the crowd grew. One man stood in front of Burke, who was far less intimidating than Lynch, and demanded to be let onto the train. He strangled the handle of a bloodied shovel.

  “I can shoot you now, clean, or I can shoot you out there after you turn. Big boy like you, how many of your fellows will you slaughter? Have you got any family left to hurt?”

  The man shrank away at the violent tone.

  Fin had not noticed Burke raising his rifle until the crowd parted, muttering about their rights.

  “Sheep,” Burke said, loud enough for them all to hear. “Give them all pills and be done with it.”

  “They’re just scared,” Lynch said.

  “Streets are swept and the roads are clear,” a soldier coming through the gate said.

  Fin put on the safety equipment they offered. With the tinted goggles, he scanned the crowd for familiar faces but Lynch tapped his shoulder before he could find any. “Take your phone out.”

  “I haven’t got one.”

  “Come on, every toddler in the country gets a phone.”

  “I had to use the speaker to distract some of the infected. I didn’t want to pick it up afterwards in case it had the pathogen on it.”

  “That’s not a bad plan actually. Here, use mine before we head out. Go on your social media accounts and type #Alive. Whole country is doing it. Well, those that are still alive. Only thing that keeps me going is seeing my wife’s been online. It’ll give your folks peace.”

  He was either very sweet or quite clever. Fin would have to sign in under his own name. Not wanting to make a scene, he held the screen close to his face and logged on. His breath caught when he saw Solene’s name. Tears ran down his face. He did not open the message. It was enough to see it there. He felt cruel for avoiding social media for so long. He typed #Alive and logged out.

  “You okay?” Lynch watched him closely.

  Fin could not wipe his eyes behind the mask. He smiled back at the soldier, which he realised, after seeing those that had lost their minds on the cots beneath Westport House, could mean anything. She is alive and that is how I must remain. “I’m good. Thank you for lending me your phone.”

  Lynch patted him on the back before putting his own respirator on. “No problem. Are you ready?”

  “Not at all.”

  23

  Tickets Please

  The noticeboard outside the grounds still had holiday events and opening hours listed. Large diggers worked throughout the day. Next to their trenches lay mounds of rich umber-coloured soil. Barbed wire fences were rolled out and military engineers oversaw the creation of spiked defences. A tarp further down the grass by the playground covered bodies waiting for the pyre.

  “At least we know they rot like humans,” Burke said.

  The smell of uncollected rubbish lingered around the town. Now that Burke brought his attention to the bodies, Fin could not ignore their putrid stench. Imagine this happened in the heat of summer. He swallowed the urge to vomit, it was not worth taking the mask off.

  “We’re not following the busy routes, try to keep the noise down. New Face, you stay between us, if contact is made then just keep out of the way,” Muireann said.

  They turned off the main road and followed the footpath along the shallow and slow river. If he needed to, he could just j
ump in and wade back to Westport House. The thought of being in the water reminded him of the infected he had met on the Greenway, the one that took too long to drown. He imagined bodies floating further upstream. Is the water safe for drinking or cooking?

  They passed a small gated estate with a private courtyard. Cars were pushed against the locked gates and bed sheets and tablecloths kept most of the grounds from view. A top floor window opened and a flood of noise came from the living looking for help. A few people asked was it over yet. Each hopeful face broke Fin’s heart a little.

  One woman shouted after them when they ignored her. Burke grimaced and his gun was about to rise but Muireann picked up the pace and the woman's shouts dwindled to silence, broken by a nearby weeper. They hunkered low for a moment, until sure it was far enough away to be somebody else's problem.

  Westport was a seasonal town, the population swelled in summer as people stopped off along the scenic Wild Atlantic Way. Some cafes closed in winter for lack of customers. Fin wondered what the outbreak would have been like with more people, longer days and more light to work with. He pulled his hands into his sleeves to keep them from the bitter chill. The streets were deserted. Fewer people, fewer infected. The only sound aside from their footsteps was the river and the few birds that watched over the town. Smoke still rose from a few chimney stacks, those running out of coal and wood turning to burning furniture and rubbish, making the air noxious and waxy.

  Passing the bank and credit union Fin imagined all the money sitting idle in there. Each week he took his wages from one to save in the other. It never failed to make him happy, that feeling of positive momentum, that he was doing something with his life. Regardless of how mind-numbing the work was, he was saving for something better with Solene. What use was that now? Money is just the physical representation of our time and we’re all short on that now.