by Ryan Casey
“Nice to finally meet you properly,” Noah said. Holding that scalpel behind his back. Keeping still as he possibly could. “Was starting to think I’d never actually see your face.”
The man smiled. Stopped walking, just for a moment, then took another few steps closer to Noah. “Dr Watson is very selective when it comes to choosing who she trusts. Looks like you’re one of the lucky ones.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Believe me,” the man said. “You’d know about it if you weren’t one of the lucky ones.”
He reached Noah. Stood opposite him. Held that pan of food in front of him. The smells wafting into his nostrils. Turning his stomach.
And Noah knew right then that he could act right away. He could swing that scalpel at this guy. He could bury it into his throat if only he could get under that bubble mask.
But he held his ground. Waited.
He had to wait for the right time.
“Tell me something,” Noah said. “Are there two of you? Or is it just you?”
The man’s smile widened. “How about we keep the mystery going and you can find that out for yourself? Now come on. Eat.”
Noah looked at the spoon before him and sighed. “This is a kind of torture in itself.”
“Again. If you weren’t one of the lucky ones, you’d know about it.”
Noah took a mouthful of the stew. Moved it around his mouth, hoping it would cool down in time. Tasted awful. Like shit. But maybe a bit better than usual, mostly ’cause of the anticipation of what was coming next. The adrenaline coursing through his system. His beating heart—
“You look a little pale,” the bloke said. “Sure you’re okay?”
Noah frowned. “A little pale? I’ve been cooped up in here for God knows how long. I’ve barely moved in weeks. I just had some kind of needle rammed into the back of my throat and was told this virus or whatever it is, is far worse than anyone anticipated. I’d say I’m doing alright if I’m just a little pale, wouldn’t you?”
The man shrugged. “Guess so. Doesn’t change anything, though. You still need to—”
“Eat,” Noah said. “I get it.”
He took another mouthful of that food—if he could even call it food. Forced himself to swallow it. The more time passed, the more conscious he grew about how free his hands and ankles were. Like the longer he waited, the more chance there was of him being exposed.
He needed to act. Soon.
“If you ask me, there’s a good chance you’ll be out of this place in no time,” he said.
Noah frowned. “W—what?”
“Out of this cell. Upgrading to something better. I’ve heard whispers. Not supposed to say a thing. But I guess if a man has no hope, what point even is there persevering?”
Noah swallowed a lump of that awful food. He didn’t know whether this changed anything. The promise of eventual escape. The teasing of some way out of this place.
But then what did an upgrade even mean?
What was his place in all this?
“Never did tell you my name, either,” the bloke said. “Rory. Well. Not really. But my real name’s shit, so you can take it.”
Noah tightened his grip around the scalpel. Heart racing like mad now. So fast it felt like it might burst out of his ribcage, explode like a bomb.
“Rory,” he said. “Nice to meet you. And nice knowing you. Really.”
Rory raised his eyebrows. “Speaking like you’re going somewhere.”
Noah’s heart raced.
His chest tightened.
Now or never.
All guilt aside.
All doubt aside.
Now or never.
“Maybe I am.”
Rory narrowed his eyes. “What—”
It all happened so fast.
Noah swung the scalpel.
Buried it into Rory’s chest.
Rory pushed back. Swung a hard, heavy punch at Noah, knocking him clean to the floor.
He opened his mouth as blood spurted out of the middle of his chest. Went to shout out.
Noah kicked him. Hard. Between the legs.
And then he dragged that pod from his head.
Tore it away.
Crouched down on top of him and covered his mouth and pulled back that scalpel.
“Please,” Rory begged. “I have children. I have a family. I have—”
Noah buried the scalpel into his neck.
Again.
And again.
And again.
All his anger bursting out.
All his frustration.
All his grief.
All his pain.
He didn’t even see it as Rory.
He didn’t see it as anyone.
Just a man who was culpable.
A man who was responsible.
A man who wasn’t doing a damned thing to help him, despite all his false niceties.
He looked away.
He couldn’t look at this man.
He couldn’t look at Rory.
He couldn’t allow himself to feel guilt.
And how did that make him any different to them?
How did that make him any different from the infected?
He buried the scalpel into Rory’s twitching neck one final time.
Then, covered in blood, he looked up at the door.
Down at the clothes. The white quarantine scrubs, stained with blood.
But not completely.
Not enough that he couldn’t do something about it.
He looked at those clothes.
Then at the open door.
Then back down at Rory’s desperate eyes, staring back up at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Then he started to strip Rory of his clothes.
He knew exactly what he had to do.
Chapter Nine
Eddie saw the torchlights beaming towards him, and every muscle in his body went to stone.
“Hey,” a voice said.
There were three of them. Three lights, all beaming towards him, shining at him.
And then those footsteps, walking towards him.
“We don’t mean any trouble. Just passing through. Figured…”
Eddie didn’t think to stand there and listen.
He spun around, Barney trailing by his side, and ran back towards the house.
He rushed across the neighbour’s muddy garden. Stumbled towards his fence. He swore he heard those footsteps getting closer, closing in. He hadn’t seen these people properly. Didn’t know who they were. They could be military. They could be looters. Hell, they could even be infected. They could be anybody.
He just had to get back to the cottage.
He had to close every damned door.
And he had to protect that place.
He clambered over the fence and felt the wood snap underfoot.
He fell to the ground. Mud splattered up, all over his face. His chest felt tight. His heart raced. He clutched on to his knife. He’d be ready to fight if he had to be. But there were three of them and just him and Barney.
He needed to get in the house.
Needed to lay low.
And then he could pick them off one by one if he had to.
He hoped he wouldn’t have to. Not another three.
But if he had to…
He went to push himself to his feet when he saw light surround him.
He froze. Those three lights again, all beaming at him.
The footsteps getting further and further across the grass.
That voice.
“We don’t mean any harm. Seriously. You might want to—”
“Get away from here!” Eddie shouted.
He stood up. Turned around. Stared into the lights with his knife raised. No idea what these people looked like, not with those beams shining right at him.
They’d stopped moving now. Stopped walking. He felt like he was on a stage. Like a spotlight was shining at him.
&n
bsp; “You’re in trouble,” a voice said. “You need help.”
“You don’t know a thing about me.”
“I know you’re on your own.”
Eddie frowned. “You don’t know that.”
“Trust me. I know a man on his own when I see one.”
Eddie stood there. Knife raised. Barney growling by his side. He wanted to ask these people who they were. What they wanted. Why they were following him.
But in the end, he just shook his head.
He’d paid the price for trusting people in the past. He’d trusted that guy Bruce, and it almost got Kelly killed. He’d trusted so many people in his life only to be proven wrong, time and time again.
So he shook his head.
Backed away.
“You don’t know a thing about me. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away from here right this second.”
He kept on backing up. Turned around and hurried back to the house. He just had to get inside. Then he could lock the doors. Grab a few more things he could use as weapons.
And then he’d be ready to fight.
To kill, if that’s what it came to.
He stumbled towards the back door when he heard something up the street.
It made him shiver. Sent a shiver crawling down his spine.
A scream.
An agonised scream.
And then another.
He looked around at those lights. They’d all turned away. All focused on the road.
Eddie heard that cry again. Didn’t know whether it was someone in danger. Didn’t know if it was someone infected.
He could just hear footsteps running up the road.
Getting closer.
Sounded like more than one person, too.
In fact, definitely more than one.
A number of them.
A damned good number of them.
Heading this way.
More than he’d heard in any one place.
And those screams.
Those agonised, manic, psychotic screams.
Infected.
He rushed inside and slammed the door shut.
Dragged out a few chairs. Stacked them up.
Stepped back. Barney by his side as he stood there in the darkness. Waited.
First, he heard those cries get louder.
Then he heard the trio with the torchlights start to mutter.
Then start to swear.
“Shit!”
Then he saw their lights race across the garden. Towards his house.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Banging on the back door.
“Let us in, mate. We’re not fucking around. Please!”
Those screams and cries getting closer.
“Get away,” Eddie shouted.
“They—they’re infected. You need to let us in. Please!”
Eddie stood by that back door. He looked over his shoulder towards the road. He couldn’t make anything out clearly. But he could see figures. Figures running down the street. Racing their way.
Lots of them.
More than he’d ever seen in one place before.
Another bang on the back door.
“Have mercy, mate! We’ll make it worth your while. Please! Just let us in! Let us in!”
Every instinct in Eddie’s body told him to hold back.
Told him to resist.
Because these people could be infected, too.
Or they could be looters.
Or this could be some kind of messed up setup.
Those cries getting closer.
Those footsteps edging nearer.
“Please!”
He stood by that back door, and he went to step away.
And then he took a deep breath.
“Fuck it.”
Grabbed the handle.
Opened the door.
It all happened in a flash.
First, the trio with the torches practically fell into the kitchen.
Then someone behind them came racing towards him.
Looked like one of the living ones. Psychotic, crazy. Blood streaming down his face, illuminated in the moonlight.
Teeth buried into his lips.
He slammed the door against him.
But the man pushed back.
Too strong.
And more behind him.
More heading this way.
“Shit,” Eddie barked.
He tried to push back. Tried to hold his ground. Wished more than anything that he was just a little stronger right now.
He felt the door pressing against him. Felt it opening. Felt it—
The man with the torch beside him stood.
Cracked that torch right against the infected’s skull.
Again and again until his skull split open.
The infected fell back.
Eddie slammed the door shut.
Locked it.
And then he stepped back as cries and shouts filled the garden, filled the road, filled everywhere.
He looked at the three men in this kitchen. Saw them clearer now. One of them middle-aged, the other two younger, looked like brothers. The main guy, the one who’d been speaking, grey-bearded. Long grey hair. All dressed in black.
And then he heard those footsteps racing across the garden.
Heard hands banging against the windows.
“Well, chaps,” Eddie said. “Looks like you’d better start ‘making it worth my while.’”
Chapter Ten
Noah stepped out of his cell and tried to keep his hands over the bloody marks smeared across his quarantine gear.
He didn’t look back into his cell once. He couldn’t bear to look at Rory, who he’d just pretty cruelly killed. He was a reasonable guy. Terrified when he’d lifted that scalpel, buried it into his throat.
And he felt guilty about it. Of course he did.
But he’d done exactly what he had to do. The only thing he could do, really.
And besides. Rory was complicit in his imprisonment. He couldn’t beat himself up too much.
One thing mattered.
Now he had a chance.
A chance to escape this place.
Find Kelly, if possible.
Find Eddie and Barney, wherever they were in this crazy place.
And then get out of here.
He looked through the smeared visor at his surroundings. He was right about this place being like a prison. In fact, it wasn’t just like a prison—it was a prison.
It was dark in here, with grey-bricked walls. He was on the upper storey, cells lining the centre. Metal walkway underfoot. No signs of inmates walking around or anything like that.
Just a few people like him.
People in this white quarantine gear. Some of them entering the cells with food. Some of them escorting blindfolded people to wherever they were taking them—presumably a similar fate to the one Noah had faced earlier today.
All of them keeping their distance. Didn’t look like any of them were interacting, which suited Noah.
Just had to keep his head down.
Just had to keep himself to himself.
Find his friends.
Find a way out of this place.
He kept his head down as he walked along this metal walkway. He felt weak and shaky. Combination of being stuck in that cell for days and the adrenaline. He wanted to check every damned cell for Kelly, but it wasn’t that easy. The cell windows were covered up. No way of seeing inside them. Only had a key for a few of the cells, too. Clearly these people had their own allocated cells to monitor.
He saw a doorway up ahead. A few people stepped out with notepads. A couple of them chatting to one another. Walking his way.
Noah lowered his head. Kept on walking. Hoped they wouldn’t notice him. Hoped they wouldn’t say a thing. But the blood on his outfit. It was prominent. There was only so long he could hide it…
And then those people just brushed by him without a word.
&
nbsp; He stood there. Looked over his shoulder. Everyone so disconnected. Everyone in a world of their own.
“You really should give that jacket a clean, mate.”
Noah spun around.
A man stood in front of him. Glasses. Short dark hair just about visible under his visor. Looked kind of weedy, like his quarantine gear was too big for him. Big gap between his teeth, which gave him a bit of a lisp.
“Seriously,” he said, stepping towards him. “You know as well as I do how contaminating blood is.”
Noah cleared his throat. Nodded. “Yeah. Just on my way to get it cleaned.”
“Trouble with one of the infected?”
Noah nodded. “Something like that.”
“Not too surprising,” the bloke said, standing right by Noah’s side now. “This virus, it changes every day. Surprises me. One minute you think you understand how this thing works, then bam! A dead body gets back up again. Or someone you thought was totally uninfected suddenly rips your throat out. Some crazy shit, huh?”
The hairs on Noah’s arms stood on end. “Right.”
“Anyway,” the bloke said. “Better get to it. Feeding round to do.”
“Sure.”
“What did you say your name was again?”
Noah swallowed a lump in his throat.
Saw the bloke looking at his name tag.
He’d see Rory’s name. He’d realise Noah wasn’t him.
“It’s—”
“Rory? Nice to meet you. I’m Paul. See you around, I guess. This place gets lonely. Maybe we can grab a beer sometime.”
Noah nodded. “Sounds good.”
Paul lifted a hand, walked off into the distance.
But before he did, Noah noticed something.
That list in his hand.
A list of photographs.
One of them of Kelly.
“Wait,” Noah said.
Paul stopped. “Huh?”
“That woman. Kelly, right?”
Paul scratched at his visor, weirdly. “I think that’s her name.”
“Yeah,” Noah said. “She’s… she’s been put under my watch now.”
“What?”
“I’ve been told she’s under my watch. So if you have the keycard to her cell, I can see to her.”
Paul frowned. “Weird. Not the first time that’s happened. But hey ho. Who am I to question order, I guess?”