Safe Zone (Book 2): The Descent

by Suzanne Sussex

  Safe Zone: The Descent

  Suzanne Sussex

  COPYRIGHT

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Any names, characters, incidents and locations portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. No affiliation is implied or intended to any organisation or recognisable body mentioned within.

  Copyright © DHP Publishing 2017

  Suzanne Sussex asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive and non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen or hard copy.

  No part of the text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, known or otherwise yet invented, without the express permission of DHP Publishing Ltd.

  www.dhppublishing.co.uk

  For my mum and dad, who always inspired me to follow my dreams

  Living?

  D O Thomas

  Breathe in …

  And out.

  There you go.

  Now do it again.

  In …

  And out.

  I’ll do it with you.

  Breathe in.

  And out.

  You’re doing it.

  You’re living.

  I am too.

  But that’s not the hard part.

  The Outbreak

  Dr Deborah Bennett placed her hands on the small of her back and stretched. A fruitless bid to ease the pain that had been building for the last few days. Stifling a yawn, she stripped off her thin latex gloves and strolled over to Karen. Her assistant was merrily singing along to the radio, while busy labelling a cardboard box.

  “I need a break, fancy a coffee?” Deborah offered.

  Karen turned and smiled wearily, the bags under her eyes a mirror image of Deborah’s own, “Oh God, yes I’d love one. Americano, extra shot please.”

  “I won’t be long,” Deborah said, and she walked to the sink, tossing her gloves into the chemical waste bin. She scrubbed her hands with antiseptic until she was satisfied they were completely clean. As she left the lab, she chuckled when Karen started singing with passion to a classic eighties power ballad. Her colleague’s dulcet tones echoed out in the large empty corridor.

  It was eerie walking down the corridor to the staff room to collect her things. Normally the R&D floor was a hive of activity.

  Doctors in white coats buzzed around, shouting orders at their overworked assistants. But today, like yesterday, the entire floor was empty. All non-essential personnel had been given temporary leave. Deborah and Karen were the only two to be considered essential. So essential in fact, they had been working around the clock since the breakthrough.

  The eureka moment had come on Friday. Keeping silently optimistic, she had run and re-run every test they had. She had waited until Saturday evening before lifting the phone, dialling a number and telling her boss that she had done it. His reaction had been underwhelming. At least for Deborah’s ego. She had expected excitement, enthusiastic congratulations and appreciation. What she got was a demand to prepare one thousand samples by Monday night. No small task.

  She had not been surprised when the emergency leave was announced. The water cooler gossips were already stealing sly glances at Deborah and Karen, jealously wondering, but not daring to ask about the top secret project that was getting so much attention. It was with relief that Deborah and Karen watched the few scientists working on Saturday pack away their belongings and head out of the door.

  Giggling like children left to play in the house alone, they found a pen and wrote the name of their project on the lab door.

  ZN-134.

  Safe to write down because no one else would see it. Not even Security were allowed on the floor. Of course they would need to remove it when the department returned to business as usual, but it was a relief that they could walk around the floor talking freely about their work. With the removal of all of their colleagues’ access card rights, they could be confident that no busybodies could be hiding in the shadows, eavesdropping. It had been with a renewed sense of purpose that they had re-entered their lab and begun the laborious task of creating one thousand samples.

  Taking her coat and handbag from her locker, Deborah descended the single flight of stairs into the bright reception. It was only the R&D department that was restricted. The factory on the ground floor that produced the mass market medical supplies, was still working as usual, ignorant of the activities taking place just metres above their heads.

  “Hey, Bob,” she nodded at she passed the elderly man on reception.

  “Dr Bennett,” he smiled respectfully.

  She liked Bob. He was always pleasant and friendly to everyone, from the most senior doctors down to the cleaners of the factory floor. He remembered their names and took the time to politely enquire about their families. But today he looked tired and drawn.

  Veering off course, Deborah walked over to him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, with genuine concern. She took in his grey pallor. His face was usually so tanned from working on his small allotment. He held his head in his hand, and didn’t look up to meet her eyes.

  “Just feeling a little under the weather,” he mumbled, “head’s pounding.”

  “Maybe you’re a little dehydrated. You should drink more water.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” he said, looking up to give her a pained wink. He shifted position and reached for the nearly empty bottle of water on the desk in front of him. Unscrewing the top, he drained the remaining liquid, then lifted the bottle up as though to prove he had taken his medicine. “Welcome freebie from the tube this morning. I feel better already.”

  “Liar,” Deborah smiled kindly. “I’m popping out for coffee, can I get you anything?”

  “Some paracetamol would be lovely,” Bob said, wincing as he stood to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket.

  “We’ll sort it when I’m back,” she said, “I won’t be long.”

  Stepping out into afternoon sun, Deborah sucked in a lungful of fresh air. Sure, the labs on the R&D floor were bright and well lit. The inner walls were made of glass, giving the illusion of space, but the outer walls were brick-built and could only boast small narrow windows. They were placed so high up on the walls that not even a person whose height equalled that of an NBA player would be able to see out of them. To add insult to injury, the sort of work she did required a clean environment, so the windows couldn’t even be opened.

  She checked her watch. Three thirty. Good, plenty of time to get to the chemist for paracetamol and then to the coffee shop before it closed at four. She strolled down the street, relishing the brief respite from the lab and enjoying the usual hustle and bustle of this outer London suburb.

  The pharmacy was busier than normal, with queues weaving around the aisles. Deborah swallowed her impatience and stopped herself from repeatedly looking at her watch.

  When she was just one person away from the checkout, she began to tap her foot impatiently. The woman at the front of her queue fumbled in her purse for the right money, swaying on the spot as though she was drunk. Deborah tutted and tapped the woman on the shoulder. Without waiting for acknowledgement, she took the purse from the woman, found the money and paid the cashier.

  “Thanks,” the woman muttered, immediately ripping open the paracetamol she had just purchased, and swallowing two down with the same brand of water that Bob had just been drinking.

  “Welcome,” Deborah muttered.

  After paying for her own purchase, she stalked out of th
e shop. She had just five minutes to get to her favourite coffee shop. Otherwise, she’d have to buy the crappy coffee from one of those chains she so detested.

  Skipping through the crowds idling on the streets, she reached the coffee shop just as Marco, the owner, was bolting the door.

  “Am I too late?” she asked in her best pleading voice.

  “For you, my beautiful friend, it is never too late,” Marco winked, “But come in quickly before the hordes follow you.”

  Instinctively they both turned back to the streets. A crowd had gathered outside the chemist she had been in just moments before. Loud voices and animated gestures indicated an argument was taking place. Passers-by turned to stare at the fracas. No one spared a glance at the little coffee shop.

  “I think we’re fine,” Deborah whispered with a conspiratorial smile.

  “Close call though,” Marco wiped a hand across his forehead in a gesture of mock relief. “Two Americanos, both with extra shot and room for milk?” he asked.

  “Am I that predictable?” she laughed.

  “I just know what my favourite customer wants,” Marco flashed a brief smile over his shoulder as he set about making the coffee.

  “I bet you say that to all your customers,” Deborah laughed, then cursed in frustration as she emptied the contents of her bag over the counter trying to find her purse.

  “Have you taken a new job as a caretaker?” Marco asked with a grin.

  “What?” Deborah asked, then saw the chain of keys that were partly concealing her purse. “Oh,” she laughed, “No, I’ve just got them temporarily so I can get into work out of hours.”

  She paid for the coffee and said goodbye to Marco, thanking him profusely for staying open for her.

  The disturbance on the street near the chemist seemed to have spilled over into an all-out fight, prompting Deborah to take a different route back to work, in case she got caught up in whatever was going on.

  London, even on the outskirts, was not a quiet place to be; traffic, sirens, and people all contributed to a usual cacophony that somehow blended into a background hum. Lost in thought, Deborah barely registered that somewhere nearby an alarm was ringing shrilly. It was only when she neared the familiar chain link fencing that enclosed the factory, that she noticed that the source of the racket was her place of work.

  She hesitated just metres from the gates, reluctant to go inside. A fire drill meant standing in the car park while registers could be taken, checked, then tripled checked. Staying outside the factory grounds meant that she could find a bench and enjoy her coffee in relative comfort. Karen would confirm she had left the site so she would be safely accounted for. Yet, she held two coffees in her hands and Karen had been a real trooper over the last few days.

  It wouldn’t be fair to desert her to the boredom of the fire drill alone. Sighing, Deborah balanced one coffee on top of the other and held them both steady with her chin. She reached for the handle that would open the gate. As her fingers grasped the cool metal, a piercing scream startled her. Instinctively she lifted her head, causing the topmost coffee to wobble, then fall from her precarious grip. It exploded on the floor sending hot liquid over her feet and ankles.

  As she bent down to retrieve the coffee, someone slammed into the fence a few metres down from where she stood. Her head whipped in the direction of the man, his fingers gripped around the chain links as he frantically shook at the barrier.

  “Help me …” he pleaded.

  Deborah froze. Time stopped. She looked beyond the man and took in the scene. The factory workers seemed to be brawling with each other. But this was not an ordinary fight.

  “No,” she breathed, shock causing her to drop the coffees again, but this time she paid them no heed, “Not here, not yet.”

  She watched as the workers ran from people trying to attack them.

  She took in the scenes of those hiding in fright behind cars, of others running to the fence, but being tackled to the ground en route. A few banged on the building entrance door, begging to be let in. But Deborah knew the effort was futile. The fire alarm system automatically sealed the door when it was closed following an evacuation. Only the on-duty security guard would be able to reopen it.

  But that would not happen, because the security guard was busy. Bob was using his teeth to viciously rip and tear into a woman’s face. Deborah watched in stunned silence, helpless, as the woman screamed in pain and battered the old man with her fists. He did not react to the beating, but just continued to tear chunks of flesh off her cheek and then her neck. Eventually, the woman lay still. Blood pumped from her carotid artery. With one last twitch of her fingers, she was dead.

  As soon as the woman lay still, Bob lost interest and launched into his next victim. This time he was punched square in the jaw and flew backwards, landing at an awkward angle. The man spun around to fend off the next attacker, a woman, smaller than he, but ferocious in her bid to taste flesh. The man managed to hold the woman at arm’s reach.

  He rocked her left and right to stop her teeth clamping down on his bare arms.

  Behind him, Bob clumsily rose to his feet. Deborah opened her mouth to scream a warning. But it was too late. Bob sprang on the back of the man and bit down on his shoulder. The man shouted in a mixture of pain and anger. He elbowed Bob in the stomach, but Bob just carried on ripping and tearing through his clothing, then into his flesh. Distracted by the monster on his back, the man relaxed his grip on his female attacker, and she bit down on his arm. Howling now, the man tried to fight both of the possessed assailants, but it was already too late. Deborah turned her eyes away as they wrestled him to the floor and fed until the man lay still in his bloody grave.

  Bob and the woman rose once more and searched the area for their next meal. Deborah watched in horror as they were joined by a third person. Bob’s previous victim. He had destroyed the left-hand side of her face. A gaping hole in her cheek exposed her jaw and teeth. The woman had been dead. Of that Deborah was certain. It could only mean one thing.

  ZN-134 was here.

  Deborah vomited, and the putrid lumpy fluid mixed in with the remnants of the spilled coffee. She watched in confused fascination as the mess took on a deep claret tinge. Her eyes followed the stream of blood that was flowing into the mixture. Its source was the body of the man who just moments ago had been clinging to the fence, begging for her help.

  Deborah vomited again and again until there was nothing left for her body to expel. Then she backed slowly away from the fence and turned, ready to run as far away from this scene of carnage as possible.

  “Deborah,” a familiar voice wailed, stopping her in her tracks, “help us.”

  It was Karen. Torn between the instinct to flee and the desire to help her friend, Deborah turned back towards the gate. Karen was a few metres away, no attackers were near. She had time to rescue her friend.

  Deborah reached out to open the gate, then hesitated. One sleeve of Karen’s white lab coat was soaked in blood. Karen was using it to stem the bleeding from the bite mark on her other arm.

  “I’m sorry,” Deborah whispered, as she fumbled in her bag and pulled out the set of keys. She slipped the largest one into the lock on the gate and winced as she twisted it.

  The lock fell into place just as Karen reached the gate. Pulling down the handle, Karen looked at Deborah in confusion. Then down to the keys in her hand, and realisation hit.

  “I’m sorry,” Deborah said again. Then she turned and ran.

  She needed to find someone in authority. Someone who could help those, as yet unhurt, trapped inside the factory grounds. Deborah sprinted back towards the row of shops to find someone, anyone who could offer assistance.

  She found Marco, he was standing outside the coffee shop with his back to her, looking in the direction of the fight outside the chemist. It had become more violent, more bloody and more dangerous in the few minutes she had been away.

  “Marco, thank God, please help.” Marco ignored he
r, so she grabbed his shoulder, “Please, Marco.”

  He spun clumsily around and she immediately realised her mistake. Marco’s eyes were black, and he had a bloody gash down the side of his face where his cheek had been ripped out. He let out an inhuman groan and lunged at her. Without realising her keys were still in her hand, Deborah lashed out. One of the keys embedded in his ebony eye, but Marco did not flinch.

  She pulled it out and tried again on his other eye, but too late. He sprang so quickly it knocked the doctor to the ground. Deborah screamed and writhed but to no effect. Marco’s hands ripped into her clothing, exposing her flesh, and in a hungered frenzy he tore into her stomach. The pain was so intense that shock took over and Deborah watched with an almost casual disinterest as her intestines were ripped from her body and greedily consumed. As she died, her fingers uncurled. The keys she had been clinging to fell from her grasp and lay abandoned in the doorway to her favourite coffee shop.

  Twenty Years Later

  Tony rapped his knuckles against the faded white wooden door. He broke out in a toothy grin when he heard the familiar groan sound from behind the door.

  “Oi, Carl,” he called to his companion across the hallway, “We got a dead one in ‘ere.”

  “Last one for today, innit?” Carl said, turning his back on the door he was about to knock on, and jogging over to join Tony.

  “Yeah, mate, we've got all ten now. Extra rations for us tonight,” he rubbed his rumbling stomach. “We need to catch the fucker first. You ready?”

  Carl positioned himself into a crouch on the left-hand side of the door. Hammer in one hand, hood in the other, he looked up at Tony and nodded, “Ready.”

  Tony knocked on the door again, “It's dinner time,” he called in a singsong voice. The sound of the groans increased. “You hungry, freak?” Frantic pounding sounded against the closed door, as though the occupant of the flat was throwing himself bodily against it.