The Virus

by Lee, Damien

  Frank lay back on his mattress and stared at the ceiling. He saw Henderson stoop down in the corner of his eye. A hocking filled the room as he spat in the bowl.

  “There’s a bit of spice for you.”

  Henderson winked as he left the cell, slamming the door behind him. Frank sighed and closed his eyes, listening as the guard walked away. A few seconds passed before another disturbance started. He shook his head at the commotion as his fellow inmates objected to the food.

  “I’m not eating this shit!” Gus Razor bellowed.

  A splattering sound accompanied indignant cursing. Another guard had experienced one of Razor’s tantrums.

  “You can clean this shit up,” the guard yelled, his voice youthful and faltering.

  “Do I look like a fucking housewife?”

  “You’re gonna regret that!”

  “C’mon boy, that soup isn’t going to clean itself. Mop and bucket, on your way!”

  The laughter and ridicule of the prisoners followed the young guard as he stormed away.

  The sound of dull footsteps indicated a second guard walking in the corridor. Frank listened as the footsteps grew louder.

  “Hey, McAllister, how come you haven’t battered that prick Henderson yet?” one prisoner shouted. Frank heard the footsteps stop outside his cell. The door swung open, revealing the large form of McAllister.

  “What d’ya want?” Frank asked as the guard entered the cell.

  “Henderson’s got it in for you.”

  “Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t kill the kid, Henderson did.”

  Frank stared at the guard with wide eyes.

  “What?”

  “I’m telling you something you don’t know. Right after they took you away, he dragged the kid out to the rec yard and caved his head in.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yup. He made me dig the grave.”

  Frank fell silent for a moment, considering the information. “And why are you telling me this?”

  “Because we’re not all corrupt. Some of us know exactly what Henderson’s like and we want rid of him.”

  “Then why don’t you report him?”

  “It’s not that easy. He’s got enough people scared of him; he’ll always have an alibi.”

  “So what do you want me to do about it? Who the hell is gonna believe a con?”

  “Nobody.”

  Frank frowned. “So why bother telling me?”

  “Like I said, he’s got it in for you. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but he will find a way of getting rid of you. You may want to consider a pre-emptive strike, so to speak.”

  Frank looked at the wall, the gravity of his predicament starting to become clear.

  “Here,” McAllister said, reaching into his pocket and producing a protein bar. “I doubt you’re going to eat that shit.” He motioned towards the bowl of spoiled soup.

  Without waiting for Frank to respond, he threw the snack onto the bed and closed the door. Frank listened as he made his way back down the corridor, stopping every so often to pass a bar to each prisoner.

  “It’s about fucking time,” Gus said. “Nice one, McAllister.”

  “Oh yes! You legend,” another yelled.

  Frank grabbed the protein bar and tore away the wrapping. The sugary aroma barely met his nose before he shovelled it into his mouth. He chewed mightily, savouring its sweet taste. The flavour lingered, and he longed for more, but knew he had to be thankful for the rations. He looked back at the bowl on the floor and pushed it away with his foot. Henderson was a first-class prick, but McAllister seemed to be one of the few screws the inmates could tolerate. He lay back on his bunk, listening to the appreciation of the other cons. Their cheering of gratitude and moans of fulfilment echoed throughout the wing.

  A few seconds passed before the inmates became silent once more. Frank despised the still atmosphere. His nightmares resurfaced and with nothing to distract him, they lingered. He ignored his wife’s pleas for mercy and turned on his side. Once again, several scrawls zigzagged across the wall. Some had been written in ink whilst others were carved into the paintwork. Frank read them with interest. Many more sexual statements were present, as were the crude drawings. As he looked closer, he found another gem hidden amongst the trash.

  ‘1987 Andy Emerson, strangled a prostitute. She charged extra’

  ‘1988 Simon Reaves, merded a famly, I am sory’

  ‘1988 Paddy Glover, raped two girls and killed a third. I should be dead.’

  ‘1988 Jimbo Smith, cut up nine bimbos, they only found three.’

  ‘1990 Charlie Robson, killed my father and stepmother, God forgive me’

  The list continued halfway down the wall, all in the same format. It made Frank feel better reading the crimes committed by past inmates. Although he was right in his earlier assumptions, the scumbags who wrote the confessions seemed almost like friends. He read on until he came to the last entry:

  ‘2002 David Anderson, shot four men and two died, I’m so sorry.’

  The names meant nothing to Frank. The prison housed over six hundred inmates, with countless being transferred in and out since he’d been there. Reading the line gave Frank an uncontrollable urge to contribute. He rose from his bunk and glanced down at the bowl of soup. The lumps of meat swam lazily in the yellow water. He looked in disgust at the green gob of sputum floating in the centre of the soup. He eased the spoon out of the bowl, careful to avoid the phlegm which drifted dangerously close to the utensil. Once clear, he wiped the remaining drops of soup onto his blanket and approached the wall. The paintwork broke away effortlessly, as he carved his line at the next available space. After he finished, he sat back to admire his input. He had made his mark on the prison, and if he ever got released, there would always be a memory of him within the walls.

  He grinned as he read his contribution:

  ‘2004 Frank Lee, butchered my wife with a hammer, she deserved every strike.’

  7

  Cranston was bustling with activity. Everywhere she looked, Amy saw an excited crowd milling about. Police cars made their presence known by the blinking red and blue lights, and it was only as she approached the barricade she found the source of the commotion.

  Past the barrier, a multitude of medical personnel were attempting to revive a lone figure in the middle of the road. A bus driver was being questioned next to his vehicle. The underside of the bus was dripping blood. A crimson trail also glistened on the road; a sign of how far the huge vehicle had dragged the body. Amy tore her gaze from the scene as a police officer motioned for her to perform a U-turn. She complied, and drove back the way she came, taking an alternate route home.

  The detour only added a couple of minutes to her journey, but Amy was glad when she arrived home. She swung the car door wide and stepped out into the warm summer air. A pleasant smell of geraniums and daffodils shrouded her as she neared the house. Norman Collins stood in the neighbouring garden spraying a multitude of flowers with a hosepipe. He raised a hand in greeting to her as she approached her front door.

  “Afternoon, Amy.”

  “Good afternoon, Norman. The flowers are coming along lovely.”

  “Why, thank you.” He beamed. “They always smell beautiful during early summer.”

  “I must pay you to do my garden sometime,” she said as she retrieved her door keys. “By the way, how’s your dad? Is he feeling any better?”

  She watched as Norman’s smile faded.

  “No, he’s getting worse,” he said. “He can’t keep anything down. I’m waiting for the doctor. I called a few hours ago, but nobody has come out to see him yet.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want me to check him over?”

  She watched as the warm smile returned to Norman’s face.

  “You’re too kind,” he said. “But I doubt the old man would ever forgive me. He’ll be mortified when he finds out I’ve called a doctor. He’
s a proud man.”

  Amy chuckled and nodded her head.

  “I blame that meat he insists on buying from the farmer’s market,” Norman continued. “He’s been under the weather ever since he made a beef stew!”

  “Did he cook it thoroughly?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. I’m a vegetarian. I can’t even go near the kitchen when he’s cooking.”

  “You and me both.” Amy laughed. “Well, if you need anything at all, you know where I am.”

  “Thank you.”

  A distant shriek in the distance caused both of them to flinch. Amy looked in the direction of the noise, but houses shrouded the source. She looked back at Norman, who grimaced as another noise reached them.

  “I hope it doesn’t escalate here,” he said.

  “Hope what doesn’t escalate?”

  “Haven’t you heard? The riots might have spilled into Cranston. Some guy was causing trouble, attacking random people, just like everywhere else. I heard he was trying to bite people!”

  Amy felt the knot in her stomach tighten as images of the massacre came back to her. She saw her colleague’s lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling as the cleaner tore into her flesh.

  “I know,” Norman said, reading Amy’s look of horror. “I couldn’t believe it. He was dragging people out of cars and everything. But apparently he was hit by a bus. My sister’s there now. I’ve just got off the phone with her.”

  Amy clasped a hand to her mouth. She had witnessed the aftermath of the carnage, but if she had been any earlier, she may have been attacked as well. She composed herself as a concerned look appeared on Norman’s face.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” he said. “As far as I know, the police have the matter under control.”

  Amy nodded and offered him a weak smile. “I’ll see you later, Norman.”

  He raised a hand in farewell as Amy stepped through her front door. The air inside the shady confines of her house was cool. She sighed, feeling more at ease under its medicating touch. Although the demented cannibal was still fresh in her mind, she felt all the better for being in the refuge of her own home and away from the hospital. Just distancing herself from the massacre was a step towards recovery.

  Dropping her keys on a nearby unit, she made her way up the stairs, glancing out the window as she went. She saw her neighbour tending to a new patch of his garden, apparently unconcerned about the noise they had heard. She took a deep breath and tried to convince herself that he was right. The police had the situation under control when she arrived at the accident. The tightness in her chest eased as she continued up the stairs.

  She headed to her room and slumped on the bed. The morning sun had warmed the covers, instilling a sense of drowsiness as it permeated her skin. Despite only working half her shift, she felt exhausted. Too drained to remove her clothes or even close the curtains, she drifted off to sleep.

  She awoke with a start several hours later. The sun had moved position, but its warmth still lingered in the room. She was unsure what had stirred her, but decided against going back to sleep. If she slept through the rest of the afternoon, she would be awake until the early hours. She dragged herself out of bed, undressing as she made her way to the bathroom. A chill swept up her back, causing her to shiver as she started the shower. She ran her hands through her long brown hair, savouring the fresh touch of the spray. The patter of water hitting her feet eradicated all other noise. All except a distant, panicked cry which sounded outside. Amy turned her ear towards the window. There was no further noise.

  Ten minutes later she felt revitalised. She stepped out of the shower with her mind almost free of the horrors she had witnessed. She wrapped herself in a towel and tied another into a turban on her head before heading out of the bathroom. The sound of her mobile phone split the silent atmosphere downstairs. Amy made for the staircase but felt the fold of her towel come loose. Catching its end before it fell, she wrapped the towel tighter and ignored the call. Whoever it was could wait five minutes until she got dressed. With that, she entered her bedroom and slipped into a pair of tracksuit bottoms and an old T-shirt.

  The sun’s rays glared through the open window, and it was only then that she realised she had not drawn her curtains. She shot an anxious glance towards Norman’s house and the window level with hers. Thankfully, his curtains were closed with no sign of a voyeur. She looked down into the yard and saw Norman had finished his gardening and had started his other favourite pass-time; sunbathing. She looked back at his house. A stumbling figure came into view as he emerged from the conservatory. It was Norman’s father. He appeared groggy as his faltering steps took him into the garden.

  The ringing of her mobile phone stole Amy’s attention. She bounded downstairs to answer the call. She located her handbag at the bottom and retrieved the handset from within. The ringing stopped.

  “Damn.”

  A frown creased her face as she read the screen. She’d had four calls from the hospital and two from her mother. There was also a voicemail left. Perplexed, Amy sat down and listened to the message.

  “Hello, Amy!” The frantic voice was that of her manager. “I know you’ve been through a lot today and I’m sorry to ask, but we need you back here! People are collapsing all over the place, the agency nurses haven’t turned up and there’s nobody to help at all! Please get back here as soon as you get this message.”

  The line went dead. Amy stared at the phone in disbelief. It had only been four hours since she had left. What was happening? Images of the crazed cleaner resurfaced. She massaged the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Her heart hammered at the thought of returning to the hospital. Chewing her fingernail, she returned her mother’s call. The phone immediately went to voicemail. With a sigh of disdain, Amy waited for the interminable message to end.

  “Hi, it’s me,” she said, adopting a faux positivity. “I’m just returning your call. Give me a ring back when you get this.”

  She hung up the phone and looked down at her shaking hands. Returning to the hospital was the last thing she wanted to do, but with it being only her second shift, she was reluctant to refuse. With an agonised groan, she got to her feet and traipsed back upstairs to dress in more appropriate clothing. She cast a cursory glance out of the window and saw that both Norman and his father had gone. Making her way back to the bedroom, she undressed, this time drawing the curtains.

  She was unsure what to expect when she arrived back at work. Things must have turned pretty bad for her manager to ask her to return. The notion worried her. If the man she had treated earlier was anything to go by, then many people must be seriously ill. She examined her appearance in the mirror. The black leggings, T-shirt and cardigan were not as comfortable as her loungewear, but they would have to do until she reached work.

  A gnawing pain in her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten. With everything that had happened, food had been the last thing on her mind. She proceeded downstairs, making a detour to satisfy her hunger.

  The kitchen was cleaned to an immaculate finish; something which Amy had always dedicated her time to. She made her way to the refrigerator, conscious of the fact that she had not been shopping in over a week. Despite this, she still peered inside, confirming the lack of food. With a sigh, she closed the door and glanced around her kitchen for another alternative. Being a vegetarian was hard for somebody living in Cranston. Most stores endorsed the meat of local farmers. There were few that catered to those that didn’t eat animals.

  The fruit bowl in the corner of the kitchen caught her attention. She chose an apple before leaving the house for the second time that day. The heat hit her as soon as she stepped outside. She made her way to the parked car, glancing back at her neighbour’s garden as she passed. Norman hadn’t returned. It was only once she reached the car, she remembered she had left her keys on a unit in the hallway. Exhaling through gritted teeth, she retraced her steps back into the house.

  Retrieving her keys, she returned to the
car, half expecting to see Norman sunbathing once more. Yet, the garden was empty. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet aroma of her neighbour’s flowers, only this time another scent invaded her senses. She inhaled again, stronger this time, trying to identify the foreign smell. It was almost like perfume tinged with copper, or daffodils tainted with blood. She stopped in her tracks and stared at the garden with newfound concern.

  “Norman?”

  She made her way to the bordering hedge. No reply came, and her heartbeat doubled as she peered into the garden. There was no sign of her neighbour or his father. Amy looked over at the conservatory door and found it ajar. It would only take a few seconds to call in and see if Norman was okay. But if it turned out to be a misunderstanding, she would never live down the embarrassment. A sound in the distance caught her attention. A whirr of alarms immediately followed the sound of shattering glass. She looked out towards the town and saw two clouds of smoke rising in the distance.

  What’s going on?

  She got into her car and reversed out of her drive as a scream pierced the air. She set off back towards the hospital, all the while debating whether returning to work was a sensible idea. It didn’t take long for her to find the answer. Reluctant to travel through the town with all the sounds of distress in the air, she opted to take the longer route through the country lanes. The first alarming sight she encountered was the ravaged corpse of a cow along the side of the road. She tried not to look as she veered around the animal, but she couldn’t help but notice the savagery of its demise. Huge craters in its flesh exposed ribcage and parts of its skull. There was no sign of its killer.

  The next concerning sight came as she returned her gaze to the road. The speeding saloon blared its horn as it raced down the middle of the road. Amy shrieked and swerved, narrowly avoiding a collision as the vehicle shot past. She fought for control of her car as it veered off the road, but the momentum took control. The car’s spin came to an abrupt end when the driver’s side smashed into a tree. Amy’s head hit the window as it shattered, showering her in flecks of glass, and rendering her unconscious.