Chronicles of the Infected Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Wood, Rick

Their faces appeared desperate. Cuts in cheeks displayed exposed, decaying jaws, open bellies revealed wayward intestines waving in the wind behind them, greeny-pale flesh from their faces to their hands, finished with sharp, dead fingernails. Their jaws chopped, salivating blood. So many dead faces. So many desperate, hungry mouths.

  They were everywhere.

  Just everywhere.

  Gus sliced through another, stuck his knife into the throat of another, then stuck the knife in the gut of one and unseamed it from its belly to its mouth.

  A glance over his shoulder told him that the others were doing similar. Desert was picking up a lot of the slack for Whizzo, who stared wide-eyed, clutching his gun in his shaking hands, shooting in the right direction but at nothing in particular.

  Just seventeen, Gus had to remind himself. Just seventeen.

  Desert was an expert. She had two blades, one in each hand, and she took her enemies apart with precise lunges, ducks, and swipes.

  Prospero was like any typical army general, a look of aged defiance in his eyes, snarling as he shot with deadly aim.

  The plan was working. Or so he thought. Just as he turned back, following the split-second he took to check on everyone else, he was already overloaded. Another glance told him that so were the others.

  Sadie came to his aid. Just as he sliced through another four, finding more on top of him than he could count, she leapt upon them and ripped them to shreds with her bare hands; landing on their necks, pulling their heads off like rubber on the end of a pencil, then diving into another load, that she ripped apart with her hands and teeth.

  Desert saw blood dripping from Sadie’s jaw, and immediately turned her gun toward her.

  “No!” Gus shouted, hitting the gun away.

  “She’ll be infected, she’ll turn.”

  “No, she won’t, she’s immune!”

  “What?”

  “Just – just trust me.”

  They fought on, but in seconds they were even more overwhelmed. Sadie was having to take on everyone’s fight for them, and it was getting too much. She’d remove another dozen, then another twenty would appear in their place.

  “What do we do?” Desert shouted at Gus, backing away from another load that Sadie dispatched just in time.

  Gus looked around himself.

  He couldn’t see beyond them.

  And, just as Desert held Gus’s eye contact, one of the infected opened its jaw and went for her throat.

  Then Gus heard a familiar scream. A scream that changed everything.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The infected halted, still like statues. Desert looked over her shoulder and jumped, abruptly plunging her knife into the head of the nearby infected. But she needn’t have. Somehow, all of them had stopped moving – milliseconds from her demise.

  Gus breathed a sigh of relief.

  He looked around.

  They had all frozen.

  That scream he’d heard. It continued, persisting as the infected were all hacked down. Heads beyond the nearest heads to Gus disappeared as they fell, and a familiar face appear behind them.

  The infected dispersed. All of them, parting out of the way, as if some almighty leader had appeared, as if it was the undead messiah himself.

  But it wasn’t.

  It was Donny.

  “Let’s go,” he said, an air of charm about him. His face was still cold, but there was some expression there, some reaction.

  He walked further into the woods and they all followed without question. At least, at first.

  Gus didn’t take his eyes off him.

  The stationary infected, standing still like statues, left their surroundings and wandered into a clearing. Donny led the group along an open field until they were out of sight of the horde.

  Gus decided he’d had enough.

  “Stop!” Gus demanded.

  “We can’t stop,” Donny answered. “We need to put some distance between–”

  “I said fucking stop!”

  Donny stopped.

  As did the others. They all turned to Gus. One by one, Gus saw their faces stare at him. He could tell each of them had questions to ask, but astonishment had prevented them voicing any. When it came to their survival, they all gave their trust to the person who freed them; however bizarre the act of liberation had been.

  For Gus, his trust was never up for negotiation. This reeked of suspicion. It made no sense.

  Donny was the last to turn. Slowly, after everyone else, he rotated to face Gus. His face was empty, yet full at the same time. Something was different. There was more there, more behind his eyes. Donny had returned, but he hadn’t returned the same. That cocky humour had left and was replaced with something far more militarised.

  “What is going on?” Gus asked.

  “We’re escaping.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “You know goddamn well what I’m talking about.”

  Desert, Sadie, Whizzo, Prospero. They remained still, tense observers, waiting. None of them objected to the interruption, but none of them dared speak. This was between two old friends.

  And they all wanted the answers.

  “This,” Gus continued. “This… whatever it is. This act of yours. It’s getting under my skin.”

  “There is no act.”

  “Then where is Donny?”

  “I’m right here, Gus.”

  “Really? ’Cause I don’t see him. I just see some scared little prick I picked up from the compound. I don’t see Donny. I don’t know what you are.”

  Donny sighed, hesitated, turned his face away.

  “Can we do this another time?”

  “No, damn it! We do this now!” Gus took a few steps forward. “For starters, where the hell did you get the ability to take those infected down? Last time I saw you, you could barely lift a gun, never mind rip them apart with your bare hands.”

  “I didn’t rip them apart.”

  “Okay then. What about the way they looked at you?” Gus stepped forward again. “The way they stop moving when you’re around. They did it in the compound, and they did it just now.”

  “Aren’t you grateful?”

  “Grateful?”

  “Yeah! What just happened saved our lives.”

  “Saved our lives?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Answer the question, Donny.” Gus had now stepped so far forward he was almost within Donny’s personal space. “What happened to you?”

  “What do you mean, what happened?”

  “Why do the infected stop when you’re around?”

  “They don’t stop–”

  “Why, Donny?”

  Donny looked around himself uncomfortably. “Look–”

  “Why!”

  “Gus, man, quit it, I can’t–”

  “Answer the bloody question!”

  “I don’t know!”

  Silence.

  Uncomfortable, prolonged, tense, silence.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Gus persevered.

  “I mean, I don’t know.”

  “Just tell us why they do it, Donny.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t, because I don’t know.”

  “Or won’t because you’re up to something?”

  “Can’t because I–”

  Donny covered his face. Gus pulled his hands away. Donny was crying.

  “What happened to you in that compound?”

  Donny covered his face again, shaking his head. Gus pulled his hands away once more. Still crying.

  “Quit it, Donny, and tell me – what happened in the compound?”

  Donny turned his body away. Gus pulled Donny back, forcing Donny to look at him.

  “Please,” Donny begged.

  “Tell me what happened in that compound.”

  “Gus, I – I
don’t know.”

  Donny fell to his knees. Covered his face. Wept. His body convulsing. He tried wiping his tears away and stopping, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted to, but he couldn’t.

  Gus looked over his shoulder, back at the others. They were all looking at him like they didn’t know what to do. All answers eluded them. None of it made any sense.

  Gus knelt down, taking Donny’s hands away – but this time, slowly. With care. He placed his hand on the back of Donny’s head with an affectionate touch.

  “Donny,” Gus said. “You’re my friend.”

  “You’re my friend,” Donny insisted.

  “Then tell me what happened.”

  “I would if I could, Gus. I really would. I just – I don’t know. I don’t know. I just know, they were awful things. Really, really, awful things.”

  Gus nodded.

  Donny was telling the truth.

  They stayed at the same level for a few minutes, letting the conversation settle, the tension escape, the tears end.

  Eventually, Desert tapped Gus on the shoulder and indicated with a nod of the head that he should look at the sky.

  It was getting dark.

  “There’s a farmhouse in the distance, Whizzo saw it through his binoculars. Maybe a mile. We should get moving, before it’s so dark we can’t see anything.”

  Gus reluctantly nodded.

  He helped Donny to his feet and they kept moving.

  The Journal of Doctor Janine Stanton

  Day 4

  Transcript from webcam journal by Janine Stanton, fourth entry

  I…

  Jeeze.

  (sighs)

  I, er…

  How do I start?

  Honestly, how do I – after that – how do I – how do I even…

  (long pause)

  I did something stupid today.

  Well, stupid’s a point of view.

  Stupid is as stupid does, my grandma used to say. Then she went senile and tried to eat her own hand. I don’t think she’s…

  (chuckles)

  (cries)

  I tried to sabotage it. Tried to… to… mess… it all up. To end it. To save this subject – to save Donny – from the fate I no doubt believe they have in store for him.

  I really don’t think he did this willingly.

  I think the best thing for him would be to just…

  (briefly closes eyes)

  So here were the quantities in my latest dose:

  50% blood of mutation

  20% blood of infected

  5% blood of subject

  15% ketorolac

  10% cortisone

  0% water

  I took away the water. Increased the infection. I’ll be honest, I hoped it would kill him. I’m no murderer, but there’s only one way out for this guy, just one way, and that’s – and that’s–

  (closes eyes)

  (drops head)

  (long pause)

  (lifts head)

  (wipes eyes)

  He didn’t turn. But his body – his body changed, somehow. Like it was reacting. Not reacting as in fighting it but reacting as in – changing. Mutating. Moulding the, whatever it is, into something else.

  I think I know what I’m doing here.

  I think I know what they intend for me to create.

  And I think – I think I know what they did to him in the other room. Before. With Doctor Emma Saul.

  I read her thesis.

  She is an expert in conditioning perceptions. In twisting the way one takes in the world. Making you hate someone you love. Making you decide against your way of life.

  She did it with war prisoners. Her PhD, she was turning war prisoners against the opposition and sending them back. Conditioning someone completely against the way of life, their way of life, what they knew, everything they’d become, turning someone against everything they know and everything they–

  (pause)

  I heard rumours.

  There’s this place, or group, or something, called the AGA.

  I don’t know what it stands for, but apparently, they are planning some kind of uprising. Or, at least, they were. They were planning something.

  But where are they, then? We’ve been here for months. Where are they? What’s taking them so long?

  But, what if the sub– Donny – has something to do with this?

  Could he be from the AGA? Could he know of them, could he, I don’t know, have something to do with them?

  In which case, what are we doing to him? Why are we doing this? And what the hell is it we’re doing?

  Are we turning him against them? Then sending him back, dosed up on this… stuff… I’m putting into him?

  I really think I should have thought this through.

  I chose this because I was taking the cowardly way out. I was thinking, do whatever keeps me alive, whatever means they may release me, let me get back to my family, see if they are alive, still there, because I haven’t heard from them, and – and – it turned out, I think they probably have no intention of letting me go. I was doing this all under false pretences.

  No, I don’t think that.

  Not any longer.

  I know it.

  I know I am never getting out of here.

  I should have chosen death.

  Yeah, someone else may have taken my place, but I could have taken my research with me. Burnt the room, me in it, my papers, my synthesis, taken all of it down with me. Maybe all the samples they got me from the girl – yeah, they could get more, but it would at least delay them, and then – and then I’d hope that the next person to discover the synthesis I discovered would destroy it too. Would destroy everything. Stop this madness.

  It wouldn’t last forever. But it would at least last until these AGA people got here. Keep delaying until they arrived, saved me, saved us, saved Donny, done everything they could to kill Eugene Squire.

  (shakes head)

  Eugene Squire.

  Am I too trusting?

  Or am I an idiot?

  Because, you know what? I’m happy for him to see this.

  Yeah, I’m speaking to you, Eugene.

  You pompous, psychopathic arsehole.

  I’m happy for you to see this.

  I’m happy for you to use it as reason to take me off this case, lock me up, kill me, whatever – there is nothing you can do to me anymore. Nothing that will void the shit you’ve made me do. Look at the person I’ve become. Questioning myself, questioning everything. I should have questioned it at the start.

  I should have…

  (bows head)

  Why didn’t I question it?

  (sobs)

  Why didn’t I…

  (inhales)

  The subject will wake up soon. I don’t want him to be alone.

  I best go.

  I hate you, Eugene.

  I hate you.

  10 Hours Until Trap

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Gus enjoyed the setting of the sun in the distant horizon for the first time in a while. Strange how it was nature’s defects that created the world they now lived in, yet it was nature’s beauty that gave them their release.

  Everyone was sprinting toward the farmhouse Whizzo had seen, eager to find out whether it would be a hospitable resting place for the night. Gus had noticed, however, that Whizzo had fallen behind, fiddling with something in his bag. Gus went over to see what was delaying him.

  “Hey, kid,” Gus said. “You don’t want to be left behind and get eaten, do you? What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not a kid,” Whizzo replied, still rummaging through his bag.

  “Okay, I’ll stop calling you kid. I guess you’ve earnt the right. But you shouldn’t stay out here alone.”

  “I know,” the kid replied. “I wanted to show you something. Something cool I’ve been working on.”

  Gus looked down at his new leg. Whizzo was undeniably creative, he’d give him that.

  “Okay,�
�� Gus replied, “hit me with it. What’ve you got?”

  Whizzo opened the bag and pulled out a shotgun – except, it was no longer a conventional shotgun. The muzzle had been widened. The barrel had been tampered with in an obscure way; its shape had been moulded. Attached to the magazine was no space for ammunition, but instead, numerous boxes of lighter fluid held in place. Attached behind that was a box – no, more of a minitank – like a petrol cannister, but smaller.

  The thing looked bizarre.

  “What the hell have you done to that gun?” Gus asked, bemused.

  “This isn’t no ordinary gun anymore,” Whizzo replied, his face full of pride. “Just you wait until you see.”

  Whizzo lifted the gun, placed it sturdily on his shoulder, then pointed it at the nearest tree.

  “You may want to stand back,” he urged Gus.

  Gus took a few paces backwards.

  Whizzo, grinning wildly, giddy with excitement, took aim and pulled the trigger.

  A click sounded, followed by nothing.

  “What the…”

  He pulled the trigger again.

  A click, then a choking. A gurgle from the tank. A splutter of liquid from the muzzle, spewing a few drops that landed in a pool the multicolour rainbow of petrol.

  Whizzo dumped the weapon, withdrew a screwdriver, and started taking apart the numerous lighter fluid boxes fixed to the gun’s base.

  “I take it that wasn’t it?” Gus said.

  “No!” Whizzo snapped. “No, it wasn’t. Dammit!”

  He continued to tamper.

  “What was it meant to do?” Gus asked.

  “It’s meant to be a flamethrower.”

  “A flame thrower? You know, they have already been invented.”

  As soon as Gus said it, he knew he was being a dick, and urged himself to stop.

  “Yes, but this is better. This was going to be a smaller, compact flamethrower, one that we can actually legit carry – yeah, it’s got all the stuff attached, but it ain’t as big as a flamethrower – but even so, it’s meant to be more powerful. Like, have longer bursts of fire, have better aim and a wider landing. It could take out a whole row of the infected, and then fit back in your bag.”

  Gus couldn’t help but admire the ambition. What a weapon that would be – it could take out masses of the infected, assuming that being set on fire was enough to kill them. It would do what would take a far longer period of time to do with a knife or regular gun.