The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 4): The Dead

by Deville, Sean

  “Thank you, Major. What’s next?” The coffee he took a sip of was the best thing he thought he had ever tasted. When you fought the undead, it was almost a surprise to make it out alive.

  “For now, you stay here. We haven’t had any more confirmed reports of immune individuals and the country is on the brink of falling apart. The last hopeful was in Portland, but that whole city has been overrun. I heard about this Gabriel character ripping your mask off. Lucky escape for you.” Carson hadn’t shown it, but he had felt a welling of relief when John had been given the all-clear. He’d lost too many men, and that weighed heavily on him too.

  “Tell me about it,” John said.

  “I don’t think you realise how lucky you were.” Carson let the words hang in the air, John waiting for him to finish what the Major wanted to tell him. “They nuked most of New York and New Jersey thirty minutes ago.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep, B83 right on Manhattan. The island’s gone. You would have been on the edge of it. I’m glad I managed to scrounge that helicopter up for you in time.” What Carson didn’t mention was that it had been a waste of a good nuke. There were still hundreds of thousands, if not millions of zombies scattered around the city’s surrounding suburbs. Many had found themselves into the subway network and had thus been spared much of the atomic fire.

  “You’re glad. Jesus, Major.”

  “It wasn’t the only city. It seemed the Chinese lesson was lost on our President. Three were dropped on Los Angeles. San Diego’s gone, San Francisco.”

  “But Major, that’s insane.” John didn’t like the way this war was being run. If he was honest with himself, John had developed reservations about the way the immune were being collected. They were expending valuable resources for no real appreciable gain. He was a soldier, though, and soldiers did what they were told to do. If he had known what was happening below ground, any obedient conditioning might have unravelled completely. John would never agree to what Schmidt was doing down there.

  “Insane it may be, but what’s done is done. At least our President is willing to take definitive action. In the meantime, I’ve made room for you on the first subfloor. Get some sleep, get a few decent meals inside you. I can’t see you being sent out again. I’m just hoping what you did was enough to help us beat this thing.”

  “I do too, Major.” He was still in shock at the news of the use of nuclear fire. Both his parents were long dead, but their graves were in San Diego. Somehow the act of nuking the city felt like a desecration and a betrayal, and a nation should never betray the soldiers who fought for it. Not if it wanted them to stay loyal.

  25.09.19

  Leeds, UK

  The school Andy had been brought to had multiple uses. Perhaps the most insidious was its use as a staging ground. Not for the military, but for those with the unfortunate red bands around their wrists, the wire compound that had been set up there a temporary respite for what their ultimate fate was to be. There was also a feeding centre for civilians living in the area who hadn’t stored their own food away. The two were fortunately separated on either side of the school. It wouldn’t be good for the general masses to see what happened to those who were infected, the wire compound hidden away from prying eyes.

  Part of Andy’s new role meant getting familiar with what happened to those who society had decided to abandon.

  Andy stood watching the trucks from a distance as three of them unloaded the harassed and frightened civilians who unfortunately weren’t long for this world. He fondled the purple wristband he now wore, the identification device likely a temporary measure while the governance of the city continued to establish itself. The purple armband he wore also made him stand out from the majority, his luck seemingly endless compared to some. When he had first put it on and walked amongst the general civilians, he had noticed the wary glances some of them had given him. He was part of the power structure now, someone to be feared and respected. Whilst he was seen as one of the defenders on the wall, he was also one of those who came knocking in the dead of night. People were afraid of him, and he hadn’t quite decided how he felt about that.

  Andy had yet to mention to anyone the fact that he was immune, for there was a fear in his very soul that everything he had been given, everything he had been allowed to keep, would be stripped from him. While there was no real way for him to tell if that would be the case, the signs were all around him. Whoever had taken over the governance of Leeds, they had implemented a harsh regime that the majority seemed to be accepting. Incredible that this had happened in a matter of days. When there was an obvious greater threat on your doorstep, most people would agree to anything to keep them safe.

  Stood next to him was Gary, a veteran police officer in his fifties. Gary was a serious fellow, rarely able to crack a smile. The relationship between them had a long way to go if they were to be effective partners, both of them slowly figuring out what made the other tick. Andy made a conscious effort not to say anything that could be deemed critical to the city’s military government. He had learnt that trick long ago, knowing that lips liked to repeat what others said. Likewise, Gary barely said a word. There was something in the policeman’s eyes, a suffering that had been pushed deep below the surface. Andy didn’t ask who Gary had lost and didn’t intend to. There wasn’t a person alive in the Leeds safe zone who hadn’t suffered some sort of heartache or tragedy.

  Safe zone! How long was it likely to stay like that? He had seen the numbers of the undead that had charged up the M1 motorway. If more came, there would be little that could be done to stop them despite the walls and the fenced off tunnels that were being created across the city. And even with the available testing kits, there was still the risk of the infection taking hold. The virus was still out there, the number of “reds” being separated out evidence of that. That being said, one of the few times Gary had actually spoken off his own back had been to mention that, perhaps not all those with the red armband were guilty of being infected.

  As Andy had suspected. Why let a good crisis go to waste?

  “What happens to them?” Andy asked, pointing at the desperate men and women that were unloading themselves under armed guard. An hour ago, similar trucks had arrived, and one of the occupants had jumped out of the back and tried to flee, which was a rare event. The woman, obviously panic-stricken, hadn’t got very far, a bullet taking her in the back. The soldier who had fired the shot had then, almost casually, walked over to the still writhing body and put a round in the back of her skull. Just to be sure, you understand. When faced with that kind of brutality, average people often couldn’t process it.

  “They will be given a choice,” Gary said. There was the smell of whiskey on his breath, a common occurrence in those Andy met. None of those in charge seemed to mind, in fact, Andy believed that it was actively encouraged. Alcohol could make things easier for those who found themselves faced with unpleasant tasks. Nobody was foolish enough to get blind drunk of course, just enough to take the edge off, to make the job that little bit more tolerable. It wouldn’t be long before that started to change, the psychological damage beginning to take its toll on the population and those that guarded it.

  Gary had even offered Andy a hit from the flask he carried, to which Andy had declined. That wasn’t a road he wanted to head down.

  “What kind of choice?”

  “Do you really want to know?” Gary had asked then, the information clearly not for those with sensitive ears. Stuff like this couldn’t be kept secret for long, too many people engaged in the operation that was put together too fast.

  “If I’m going to wear this armband, I need to know what it entails.” Gary accepted that statement because it made sense. Although Gary himself hadn’t killed anyone yet, he had seen enough death over the last few days to harden his heart considerably.

  “The choice is simple. A bullet in the skull, or a chance to live outside the boundary, south of the Leeds safe zone.”

  “
Outside?”

  “They are dropped by helicopter,” Gary stated. “Although we lost two helicopters yesterday, so no telling how long they will keep doing that.” There were still zombified birds flying around, although unknown to Andy and Gary, their numbers were depleting. As the zombie birds aged, it became progressively more difficult for them to fly due to a deterioration in their wings. It explained why men with guns wandered the streets during the day shooting any bird they could get their sights on. That was a duty that Andy could have taken to easily, but he was never offered it.

  “Do you think many of them make it?” Andy asked, regretting the question almost instantly. Of course, they didn’t.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Gary said. “Word has it they are dropped as bait, to draw off the larger hordes, to change their direction.” Gary looked at Andy then, the stern look in his eyes a warning. “Make sure that doesn’t become common knowledge.” The roundups of infected and undesirables were far from complete, so it was better for such activities to remain hidden from those who were still under the military’s protection. It wouldn’t stay a secret for long, but it would be a long time before any noise was made about the tens of thousands killed in the name of safety. The masses were already complicit in their tacit acceptance of the way those infected were rounded up. Fear and compliance were how Leeds was run now.

  Somewhere in a building in the city, men and women sat before monitors, tracking the undead using the military’s satellites and drones. A helicopter could easily alter the course of a horde, sending it south again, a survivor dropped in a field to entice them even further. Heartless, but apparently necessary according to whoever had devised the scheme. Sacrifice the few to save the many and buy time to somehow save a city that had managed to survive what had destroyed so many. Only time would tell if it was going to be enough.

  ***

  Presently there was a horde that was ripping itself through the streets of Dewsbury, south of Leeds. The horde was thirty thousand strong and growing. The decision had been made not to intervene militarily because, despite the lives lost, the consumption of all life in that area was slowing the undead down and buying the defenders of Leeds the time they needed. When the undead entered a residential area, they rarely left until all life was either eaten or converted, mainly the latter. The undead now consumed virtually unopposed, the majority of those left in these festering isles abandoned and sacrificed to save a few hundred thousand.

  What couldn’t be ignored was that the undead were now hunting the living to the point of extinction. There had to be some way to at least try and save something out of that.

  Time was also needed to allow the engineers a chance to set up their decoys. The decoy devices were quite simple really, considering the undead seemed to crave sound. With the infection reportedly under control in the safe zone, the likely paths for the zombie progression were set up with sound traps to lure in whatever zombies were in range to hear. Mobile phones, even CD players linked to car batteries, all could make enough noise to draw in the undead.

  There were several options for placement put forward, but in the end, the pylons that had once carried electricity across the land were used. Rarely was the electricity still running through those pylons, so many of these devices relied on crudely constructed solar panels that helped keep the batteries charged. Even with the intermittent play programmed into them, it was only a matter of time before the power failed, making these crude distractions a temporary measure at best.

  While much of the power in the UK had failed, Leeds was still getting everything it needed thanks to the Ferrybridge power station that was outside the zombie contamination zone. Truthfully, it was presently well supplied with fuel, planners already trying to deal with the future problem of that supply and the future of the plant itself. The military had witnessed how even the strongest defensive positions could get overwhelmed, so plans had already been made for the loss of the power station. There were also secret plans to save a select few should Leeds eventually fall, but very few people were told about that.

  The pylons were sturdy, able to withstand the undead attacking them, and would be impossible for zombies to climb. Placed metres above the ground, it was hoped the devices playing music on an intermittent loop would distract the zombies, and draw them into groups large enough to make artillery and air assault effective. Like with anything, the plan worked except where it didn’t.

  It was the best that could be done on such short notice. With most of the warehouses south of Leeds stripped bare of everything inside them, a line was drawn across the country. Everything south and west of the line was to be abandoned, the people there left to their fate. As for refugees, Leeds would not take in any more, hadn’t done so for over a day now. Some people slipped through the defensive lines that were still being constructed, but the majority made the mistake of using the main arteries humanity had once constructed. Most of those who didn’t already live within the defensive boundary being set down would be left to be feasted on by the dead, or shot by soldiers as a deterrent to turn back the mass exodus. Refugees meant more mouths to feed and more chances of Lazarus creeping back amongst the population. Leeds was permanently closed to the non-resident living and hopefully the dead.

  ***

  Michelle used the ladle to transfer the soup into the bowl that was offered. Her arm ached from the motion, the ladle feeling heavy after nearly an hour of this. Mitch hovered behind her occasionally, checking that those tasked with feeding the dispossessed weren’t giving away too much.

  “One serving and one piece of bread,” Mitch had reminded her. “We need to ration the food. Anyone foolish enough not to have stored away their own food will just have to make do with what they are given.”

  Sometimes people begged her, either with their lips or their eyes, and she found it really difficult to say no. Michelle was fortunate that there were no children here, for she would have found it difficult to resist the little darlings. But mainly she was faced with the elderly and the weak. Every able-bodied man and woman was elsewhere, forced into work that few objected to when guns were casually pointed their way. In a way, Michelle was lucky. There was no shortage of food for those who worked in the soup kitchens, one of the perks of her new position, and at the end of the shift, she would be allowed to fill her belly.

  She had tried to speak to her fellow servers, the three of them facing off against the never decreasing lines of desperate people. None of those working with her seemed generous with their speech, the conversation quickly drying up. Placed in the middle, she quickly gave up trying, realising nobody wanted to pass pleasantries when they might be dead tomorrow. That was the risk, wasn’t it? The zombie menace was filling the country, millions of undead out there. Any day, hell any minute, the whole city could be overrun, so really, what was the point?

  Looking up, Michelle saw that the line in front of her was shrinking. Initially, it had disappeared out of sight, constantly snaking forward, new and weary faces regularly appearing. Most who she served left with meagre portions and a look of disappointment. The two soldiers guarded the servers, and anyone who demanded more food was told to shut their mouths, or they wouldn’t get any. Two men might not seem like much, but there were other soldiers visible, popping up in people’s peripheral vision. You would have thought, therefore, that this was not a place for one to misbehave. Sooner or later, Michelle knew that things would get nasty because they always did. Hunger made people desperate, and desperate people often did stupid and irrational things.

  Even with the propaganda constantly blaring out across the only radio channel still in operation, many somehow believed the UK was still a democracy. The entitlement many felt was their right had been stripped from them in the harshest way possible. How were people supposed to cope with that? To be told, most of your life that you had rights… only for those rights to be removed at the barrel of the gun you once relied upon to keep you safe.

  Looking up again at the line, Michell
e caught the eyes of an obese man probably in his fifties. The look of hostility that was returned to her told Michelle this one was going to cause trouble. She had seen that look dozens of times on this shift alone, as if Michelle was somehow responsible for the predicament they found themselves in. Nobody had told her why she was picked for this job, and it never occurred to her that it was because she had spent years serving people. Many a time in the past she had verbally disarmed and calmed an unhappy customer who was intent on creating an altercation. The right word, even a smile, could often deflect an upcoming barrage.

  Of course, dealing with a metrosexual complaining about the wrong kind of milk in their latte was a lot different than facing off against someone driven to the point of despair. That’s why the soldiers were here, and she gave the code that Mitch had told her. Three steady taps of the ladle, just to clear the drops off, you understand. One of the soldiers looked at her, and then at the line of people. The soldier saw what she saw, his respirator hiding any reaction on a face that was tired and harassed. To avoid significant trouble, all the agitated man had to do now was accept the food being offered. He didn’t.

  Michelle reckoned the trouble maker was closer to sixty than fifty, although she had no way of knowing for sure. He didn’t look very imposing, but his face was filled with hatred. Maybe he resented having to take handouts, or maybe he was just mentally ill. Whatever the reason, he really made the wrong choice today when it became his turn to be served.

  “I want two pieces of bread,” the man demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” Michelle said, “I can only give you one.” She didn’t feel bad saying it because the guy was acting like a complete prick. You got them in her line of work occasionally, treating you like shit, thinking they were somehow better than you because you worked in a coffee shop. The suit the man wore was probably worth more than she made in several months, although the rip in the shoulder and the dirt on the man’s face showed he hadn’t had it easy. That didn’t give him the right to try and force his will on her.