The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead

by Deville, Sean

  There was a rumour that Clay had some kind of cure for the disease that he had been keeping to himself. If that was the case, it wasn’t what many of them would be able to accept. If there was a cure, why should only Clay have access to it? Even some of the loyal military veterans who owed Clay so much felt the daggers of doubt eat into their minds. They had all sacrificed a lot to come to this mansion. Clay seemed to think he was offering them all protection when in actual fact it was the other way around.

  Brian pushed the tent flap aside and entered. Florence turned to him, concern in her eyes that he was here. Susan was gagged now, her body wriggling on the bed it was tied to.

  “What the hell is this?” Brian demanded.

  “Don’t come any closer, Brian, she might still be infected.” Brian ignored her, stepping further into the tent.

  “Take that tape off her mouth, are you crazy?” Brian insisted.

  “Please, Brian, you don’t understand.”

  “Well, then why don’t you enlighten me?” Brian insisted. He was well aware that Susan had received the anti-serum. It had been partly his idea, after all. But he didn’t expect this. “Why the hell is Susan all tied up?”

  “I would have thought that was obvious,” Florence pointed out. When Brian didn’t seem to get what she was saying, Florence explained further. “She was infected. There was no way of telling if the injection I gave her would help at all. The restraints are there in case she…” the words seemed to dry up in her mouth.

  “In case she died and came back.” Brian nodded his understanding. “And the gag?” She could have gotten into a futile argument, but instead, Florence went for the easy road. She ripped the tape from Susan’s mouth and let Brian find out for himself.

  “Oh, here he is, the great man.” Poison flowed from Susan’s mouth. “Come to save me again, have you? Come to pretend to be my fucking white knight?”

  “Susan I…”

  “Shut your foul mouth and untie me,” Susan commanded.

  “We can’t untie her,” Florence insisted. “She still might be infected. You saw how uncontrollable she had become.” Florence gave the warning again, not really believing it. It was more out of fear of the woman herself than any virus she might be carrying.

  “Don’t listen to this cunt,” Susan responded. What the hell was wrong with her? Brian asked himself. Susan hated that word, he’d never heard her use it, even about the man who had killed her child.

  “I’m not untying you, Susan. Not until Florence says it’s safe.”

  “Then what fucking good are you?” Susan asked. The words bit deep, full of venom. “Have you forgotten it’s your fault I’m here?”

  “I…”

  “Do you want me to put the tape back now, Brian?” Florence asked.

  “Don’t you dare, you dried up old hag,” Susan warned.

  “Might be best,” Brian advised.

  “Fuck you,” Susan roared. With her head, she tried to watch Florence as the doctor ripped another piece of tape off the roll. Before the tape could be placed though, Susan seemed to calm. “Okay fine. Can I just say one thing before you silence me?” Susan’s manner seemed strange, totally alien to the woman who had craved the blissful release of alcohol for so long.

  “Be my guest,” Florence said, not realising the gravity of her mistake. Susan suddenly smiled and at the top of her lungs began to shout.

  “TO ME, TO ME, COME TO ME…” The words made no sense to the two people witnessing. Florence managed to shut her up, the lips still trying to move under the tape. Even with the duct tape now applied, Susan continued to say the words. Muffled now, they were almost like a chant.

  “What the hell is wrong with her?” Brian asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. I’m worried the antiserum might have caused some kind of cerebral event.” Brian looked at Florence, the eyes telling her he didn’t understand a damn word she just said. “A stroke, I’m worried she might have had a bleed on her brain.” Under her makeshift gag, Susan began to laugh. Brian watched her apparent descent into madness with growing horror.

  “Is she virus free?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Florence said.

  “What if she isn’t?”

  “That’s why Clay gave me this.” Florence stepped over to a metal surgical unit and opened the drawer. From inside she pulled out the snub-nosed revolver.

  “You think you could even use that?”

  “Probably,” said Florence. “It’s one of those things you never know until you are faced with the inevitable, I suppose.” Brian shook his head, things were just getting worse here. Florence put the revolver back and closed the drawer. From the corner of her eye, Susan saw everything, a plan hatching in her sick mind. She would escape her confinement, of that she was now pretty much certain.

  25.08.19

  Leeds, UK

  Michelle had arrived several minutes before her shift was due, not really understanding what was expected of her. She didn’t want to be here, there were too many people, the complete opposite of how things had been so far with her unexpected isolation. She felt overwhelmed by the number of faces she could see, lost as to what to do or who to even ask. There was also the fear she could taste in the air, permeating virtually everyone here, even the soldiers that stood around as if they owned the place.

  This place was a school, so where were all the children?

  “You lost, love?” a soldier said from behind her. He looked dishevelled, like he hadn’t slept in a millennium, his eyes devoid of anything close to frail humanity. I’m not your love, she felt like saying, but such bravery would only likely occur in her dreams. She turned to face the man, nervously holding out the paper that relayed her duties. He looked at it briefly, nodding his understanding, likely placed here for this very purpose. Before she could object, he was stood next to her, a hand resting gently in the small of her back, his offensive body odour assaulting her nostrils. Then he exhaled, and she caught the whiff of alcohol on his breath. The soldier’s other hand lifted up and pointed, a slight tremor present in the arm. What on earth had this man seen over the last few days?

  “If you go over there and ask for Mitch,” the soldier said. “He’s in charge of feeding the masses.” The hand on her back lingered there, his body seeming to drift in towards her, still not threatening, but close to passing over the line that existed in polite society. Michelle suddenly felt she might scream, her boundaries being oppressed by a man with little to lose. An image of him grabbing her suddenly flashed into her thoughts. What would she do if that happened? Could she object, and would anyone even come to her aid if she did? Michelle felt herself tensing, only for the rising concern to have been for nothing. Instead of going through with the harassment she had envisaged, he simply walked away without giving her a second glance.

  Had she just imagined all that? She shook her head to try and get control of herself, her feet starting to move, pushing towards three lines of people who were lining up outside an open-sided tent. To get there, she had to push through the crowd of civilians, worming her way through them, “excuse me please” her new mantra.

  “Hey, there’s a bloody queue here,” someone said. Michelle didn’t turn around, but persisted forward, moving to the front of one of the lines, knowing that everyone was watching and judging her. Michelle had no doubt that the mumbled protests she heard weren’t the figment of her imagination. Damn them, she had a right to be here.

  The lines led to the large tent that she had been directed to. There were tables lined up outside upon which had been placed large pots, as well as baskets full of bread. Three people were dishing out soup and rolls to the steady procession of people, everyone seeming to wear the mandatory orange wristbands and the depressed look of desperation. Except for the two soldiers that stood at either side of the tent opening, scanning the crowd, one looking at Michelle now. His hard eyes roamed over her and seemed to doubt that she was supposed to be here. This was the food kitchen for the
people who had foolishly not stored enough food away for themselves at the start of all the madness. This place was Michelle’s new job.

  “Excuse me,” Michelle said to the nearest woman serving. She didn’t feel comfortable talking to the soldiers. At first, the server ignored Michelle, engaged in mid-pour. Eventually, she turned her eyes to Michelle, deep bags beneath them. A stern word to get to the back of the queue was cut off by the piece of paper Michelle was holding up. “I’ve been told I’m working here. I’m supposed to talk to Mitch?”

  “Mitch is in the back,” Michelle was informed, a thumb flung over the serving woman’s shoulder. That gave Michelle the permission she needed to enter into the tent, the people gathered no longer seeing her as some sort of interloper. The nearest soldier stopped her though, demanding to see her authority and her wristband. He too gave her the all clear, although his manner told Michelle that he didn’t trust her.

  “Good look with Mitch,” the soldier said as Michelle walked past him. For some reason, he found what he said amusing.

  In the tent now, several people milled about preparing food. There were large camping stoves heating stockpots and at the back, several tables and chairs. The ground was grass underfoot, most likely the edge of the school’s playground. A man looked at her as she entered, his eyes twinkling with delight. He had been stood close behind one of the women, pushing himself up against her with the lie that he was checking the soup that she was making. Michelle saw it all, the dynamics of the place settling into her mind rapidly. She caught the eye of one of the other women, the face flashing a warning as well as a world of pity.

  The moral order was breaking down. Michelle knew it, the truth that her own mother had told her about men coming back to her.

  “Most men,” her mother had told her, “will do anything they can to stick their pathetic little dicks in you at any chance they get.” Michelle had grown up believing not what her mother had said, but more that the woman who had raised her was bitter from the way Michelle’s father had abandoned them. But had she been wrong? When you take away the filters, when you take away the restraints that western civilisation had created, didn’t that just allow the true nature of some men to manifest? There was a beast in every man, and some were happy to surrender to that beast at the earliest opportunity.

  “Who are you?” the man asked. Was this Mitch? Was this who she was supposed to report to? Again she held out the paper that seemed to be both a blessing and a curse.

  “I was told to ask for Mitch.”

  “Are you Michelle?” Mitch asked, stepping away from his present victim. He had a mischievous glint in his eye, his gaze wandering up and down Michelle’s body more times than was necessary. She knew men like this, had served their like every day. Hell, she had even mistakenly dated a few in her time. None had been wearing a green wristband like this prat, however.

  “Yes,” she said meekly. Why are you always such a victim? her own mind berated her.

  “Good, and on time too.” Mitch took the paper from her and scanned it. “We will have you serving the general public,” Mitch said. “One ladle of soup and one roll per person. No more, is that clear?”

  “Yes,” Michelle found herself say. “Why don’t these people have their own food?”

  “Some of them are refugees that fled from the South. Most are idiots, though.” He gave her back the paper, his fingers grabbing hers briefly. He held them there, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. “Don’t let them give you any shit. If you suspect there will be a problem, tap the pot with your ladle three times. How many times?”

  “Three,” Michelle answered, glad when the hand that held her retreated. “Any outright abuse and the soldiers will step in. You’ve served the public before?”

  “Yes, I was a barista.” She tried to sound proud of the words, but with what she had always planned for her life, she just sounded tired.

  “Then you know what to look for, I’m sure. Grab yourself an apron and go out and relieve Jane.” How did this man get this position, she thought to herself? Who was it who determined who worked where? “In fact,” Mitch suddenly said, “let me get it for you.” Mitch moved over to where several aprons were hanging, picking one that was to his liking. He brought it over to Michelle, an innocent smile spread across his lips. Michelle reached for it, but Mitch shook his head.

  “Please, allow me,” he said. Michelle felt she had no choice but to bow her head slightly so that he could place the loop over her neck. He got too close again, spending too long wrapping the chords around her, his hands lingering at her waist. Standing behind her, he pressed against her back as he tied a nice bow. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he was smelling her. Finally, he let her go, and she stepped away from him awkwardly. What had she just walked into?

  25.08.19

  Frederick, USA

  Despite her best efforts, Reece hadn’t been able to keep Lizzy awake. Her young mind needed sleep, and when the child had started crying at Reece’s last attempt at stopping the sandman visiting her, Reece had reluctantly relented. Jee had yet to give Reece and Jessy anything to help keep them awake, Schmidt determining that more data about the desert was needed.

  “I’m sorry,” was all Jee could offer to them.

  So while Reece and Jessy were able to keep themselves awake, the child just passed right over to the other side. As dangerous as it was, it was clear to Reece that keeping Lizzy awake was almost as big a threat. So she had let her sleep and had hoped that the child would escape the dangers of the desert.

  Lizzy had only been asleep for about two hours when she woke up. Despite the remnants of the desert coming with her, Lizzy was able to tell Reece the news that once again gave the former Sherriff’s Deputy hope. As duplicitous as hope often was, it was really all they had. To give up, to surrender to the situation would be the end of them.

  “The horsemen are gone.”

  “How do you know?” Reece asked her.

  “I can’t see them,” Lizzy said. “And I couldn’t feel them chasing me.”

  “Are they all gone?”

  “No,” Lizzy said with a shiver. “The worst one is still there. The Woman with the Skulls. But she didn’t chase when I was there.” Did this mean they were safe? No, they still had the danger of the real world. “I think she was in pain.”

  The door to their detention area opened, and Jackson and Howell wheeled a man in on a trolley. Sedated as they all had been, Gianni was deposited in the cell next to the one Big T had occupied. Big T’s former cell had been stripped clean and disinfected, the small drain in the corner of every cell taking away the last evidence of Big T’s slaughter. One could almost imagine it hadn’t happened.

  A second gurney soon followed occupied by another man, Gabriel. This one was put into the cell previously used by Lizzy. Howell gave the child a smile through the glass, Lizzy reluctantly returning it, even offering the soldier a stunted wave. They had all come to the conclusion that of the guards that dealt with them, Howell was the most humane. That did nothing to help with their forced incarceration though.

  Two more immune had been added to the total of those held here. Would there be any more? Reece had a sinking feeling that this would be it, that the world was killing them faster than they could be found.

  “Are they asleep?” Lizzy asked, concern in her voice.

  “I think so honey,” Reece said reassuringly.

  “Will they wake up?”

  “You woke up, didn’t you?” Lizzy nodded, the thumb snaking in between her lips again.

  “Uhuh.”

  “Well, give them time, and then we will learn who they are.” Even Schmidt and her cronies didn’t know who the second individual was it seemed, his identity routinely and deliberately purged from any database that might have recorded his image. Peeling off the ID label, Howell stuck it to the outside of Gabriel’s cell. They obviously didn’t have the information to apply the standard ID system, the word easy to read in reverse.

>   Unknown.

  ***

  Something inside his gut had told John that he hadn’t come away from this last mission without becoming infected. Fortunately, he was wrong, even though he had risked exposure when Gabriel had ripped his respirator off. As angry as he was about that, the ire was directed more at himself than the man who had nearly killed him. It had been clear that Gabriel was a skilled and dangerous individual, thus it was only natural for Gabriel to have fought back when John stuck the needle in him.

  John was able to pass through quarantine and was now being debriefed by Major Carson. They were both in a comfortable office above ground, Carson happy to escape the subterranean confines of the research facility, if only to briefly feel the wind on his face.

  “I did the test after I sedated him,” John advised. “He gave a positive result which has been confirmed by further blood tests.”

  “And you say this man was highly trained?”

  “Yeah. He knew his way around a gun, never got flustered when dealing with the undead. If I had to guess, I would say he was special forces.”

  “We’ve checked his biometrics through NSA. It’s as if the guy doesn’t exist.”

  “What do you reckon, foreign agent?”

  “I’ve sent his file off to the CIA and DIA, see if they have anything on him. If he’s a foreign asset, it’s a minor issue. I will need to interrogate him when he comes around, though. How did you know he was immune?”

  “Gut feeling,” John said. “He seemed too cagey, too unconcerned about the virus. I think he somehow knew he was immune.”

  “Well, whatever the reason, you did good work out there.” Carson rarely praised his men, so when it happened, everyone knew the praise was well earnt. John didn’t agree with the sentiment. He had lost nearly all his men. No team leader could ever be happy with that.