by Russ Watts
“Doctor Garner? Are you here? It’s the police, I’ve come to help!” With the adrenalin pumping through his body, he had to force himself to stop running and just listen. He wanted to explore the hospital, throw open every door, and find the Doctor quickly. He didn’t know how long he had before his location would be compromised.
Suddenly, there was a clatter of footsteps running toward him from behind a set of double doors and DI Benzema braced. He gritted his teeth and subconsciously balled up his fists.
“Thank God, you’ve got to get me out of here!” said Doctor Garner, running through the doors. He had a dishevelled appearance and his eyes looked about wildly all the time. His white coat flapped around his tall frame, making his entrance all the more dramatic.
“Doctor Garner?” said DI Benzema relaxing slightly.
“Yes, yes. You’re the cavalry I take it?”
“DI Benzema, at your service. Are you ready, Doctor? We have to get you to the roof right now, there’s a chopper waiting for you. Is there anyone else here?” The DI took hold of the Doctor’s arm.
“No, I’m afraid everyone is gone; metaphorically and literally, if you get my drift. I’m the only one left. I’ve got the information though, don’t worry.” Doctor Garner patted his pocket proudly.
“We can probably take the lift; it goes right to the roof. It should still be working,” said the Doctor.
Brief introductions over, the DI and the Doctor ran to the lift and waited impatiently for it to appear. The sirens and screaming outside had not abated; the sound of death was very close. As the lift arrived, the doors opened and a hospital orderly, slumped against the doors, fell out.
“Good Lord. The poor fellow’s neck is broken,” said Doctor Garner. As they stepped over the body and into the lift, the dead orderly sat up and grabbed Doctor Garner’s leg. He bit clean through the Doctor’s trousers, breaking the skin, and ripping out a chunk of the good Doctor’s leg. The orderly noisily chewed the bloody tissue and muscle as the Doctor cried out in agony and collapsed into the lift.
“Shit!” DI Benzema pulled out his hastily approved firearm and put three bullets in the orderly’s head. The dead orderly fell backward and the Doctor’s blood trickled from his mouth. DI Benzema didn’t know if the orderly was likely to get up again, but took no chances, and kicked the body out of the lift. He pushed the button to take them to the roof.
“What can I do, Doc?” DI Benzema bent over as the Doctor tore a piece of material off his gown and wrapped it around his bleeding leg.
“Call me Robert, for starters. Not much else I’m afraid. Just get me out of here.” Doctor Robert Garner winced as he applied pressure to the wound on his leg, trying to stop the bleeding. “Shit that hurts. Just get me to the roof. I need to...”
Doctor Garner drew in a quick breath and grimaced with pain. The infection was spreading rapidly through his bloodstream, coursing through his nervous system. His leg went into spasms and the Doctor had to concentrate just to retain consciousness. He watched the numbers on the wall light up: three, four, five, six...finally they reached the roof.
“I’m Harry, okay? I’m going to get you out of here. Just try to take it easy, you’ll be out of here in a minute.” DI Benzema stood up as the lift doors opened out directly onto the roof. Gusts of rain blew in and an armed soldier was stood right outside, his weapon pointed straight into the lift.
“Thought you had taken the scenic route. I presume this is Doctor Garner?”
“Yes, but he’s hurt, so...” The DI stood aside as two burly soldiers, ignoring the gale bellowing across the rooftop, picked the pale Doctor up and carried him to the helicopter.
“Don’t suppose you know what’s going on?” said the DI to the armed soldier. He stood in the doorway, forcing the lift doors to stay open.
“No idea. ‘National Security’ or some such bollocks.” The soldier turned immediately and ran after his colleagues. No sooner had they all gotten into the helicopter, than they were up in the air, the pilot steering them expertly and safely off the roof. As he stared up into the sky, DI Benzema wondered what the hell he was going to do now.
* * * *
“This is stupid, why should we sit here all day not knowing what’s going on?” said Parker. It had been an hour since Jillian had burrowed down into her office to find out what was happening.
“Look, if we go down to the second floor, we can get out on the terrace and have a look see. Not to mention a quick fag. I’m not waiting anymore, this is a waste of time. She can’t make us stay here. I’m going now,” he said and got off the sofa from next to Tom.
“Take your umbrella, mate,” said Freddy. The rain was lashing at the windows and only seemed to be growing in intensity.
“If Jillian wants to know where I am,” Parker said, putting his jacket on and checking the pockets for cigarettes, “then you can bloody well tell her. I’ll be back soon.”
Tom watched as Parker strode across the office and left. He seemed calm, despite the situation. Desperate for a cigarette, but level headed. Tom reasoned that if there was an outdoor area on the second floor, it would be a good idea to check from there: safe enough to see down without getting into any danger. The rec’ room had been awash with ideas about what was going on and with no information coming from their esteemed leader, Jill, a hundred possibilities had been mooted. Amber thought it was a lot of fuss over nothing and that they’d all be home by tea time; Jackson and Freddy agreed that it was probably a dirty bomb let off by one of the Arab factions. Brad suggested it was an alien invasion and Jenny was worried the government had created a superbug that was making its unstoppable way around the world, turning everyone into bloodthirsty zombies.
“Hold up, I’ll come, too,” shouted Cindy. She ran out and Tom watched as the woman grabbed a shiny red raincoat on her way. He got up and went to the water cooler to refill his cup, leaving the rest of the group to continue their gossiping. A man, Brad, was there by the water cooler, as if waiting for him.
“That’s Cindy,” said Brad to Tom. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to remember everyone’s names. Cindy has a major crush on Parker, but she’s wasting her time.”
“Brad, isn’t it?” said Tom smiling, shaking hands. “Tom Goode.”
“You’re sure having an interesting first day, buddy,” said Brad, shaking Tom’s hand.
“True, true,” said Tom watching the cool water fill up his glass. Brad had piercing blue eyes and a firm shake. Tom hadn’t noticed before, but Brad had quite an imposing presence. He was tall, tanned, and toned; the typical blue-eyed American boy-next-door.
“So you think Parker will find much down there?” asked Tom.
“No idea,” shrugged Brad. “But Cindy will suck his prick off given half the chance.” Brad laughed at his own crude joke and Tom, not wanting to appear rude, faked a laugh back.
“Say, I’ll give you a head’s up on everyone. Forget the cowards who ran, you’ll probably never see them again anyway.” It was Tom’s turn to shrug; Brad had an unusual sense of humour.
“That’s Freddy – super nerd, but super intelligent. Next to him you got Jackson; he’s pretty cool. He knows everything about everything, which is useful at times, but he can get annoying. Over there, you see the redhead? That’s Jenny. She keeps herself to herself and loves cats. A little too much if you ask me. Those other fat chicks next to her? I have no idea what their names are.”
Tom nodded his head in acknowledgement as Brad listed the names of the remainder of the staff who were in the rec’ room. When he didn’t know their names, he just used nicknames: Big-tits, Pimple-face, and one short, stocky, fellow, who Brad named Elma Fudd. Tom forgot many of the names straight away.
“And, finally, you see the blonde by the window over there looking at her reflection? That’s Amber. Loves herself, but with her tits, why not? I fully intend to fuck the hell out of her by the weekend, so hands off, buddy. You can get yours later.”
Brad nudged Tom and win
ked, letting out a small laugh. Tom wasn’t sure how much of a joke this was supposed to be and just nodded in agreement. It was certainly proving to be an unforgettable first day.
* * * *
“Wait up!” called Cindy, skipping down the stairwell after
Parker. She caught up with him two floors down.
“Cindy, you shouldn’t be here. We don’t know if it’s safe,” said Parker. He had volunteered to go downstairs hoping for some solitude and a cigarette in peace. With the storm going on outside, he wasn’t sure if they would be able to see anything of use anyway.
“You’ll protect me though, eh, Parker?” Cindy beamed and winked at him, wrapping her red raincoat around her. The stairwell was cold. Parker couldn’t help but smile. Cindy looked like a child, her gleeful manner only outshone by her ridiculously brightly coloured coat. He knew she fancied him and they got on well, but he saw her more as a sister.
“Okay, come on then,” he said giving her an over-the-top wink back. Parker began down the stairs with Cindy following. All the way down, she chatted to him: about the rain, the exciting stuff they were going to see outside, and what she was planning on buying at the weekend at the flea market. She bounded after him happily, forgetting the day’s troubles. Parker let her chatter away, unable to interrupt, thinking mostly of the cigarettes waiting in his pocket.
As they entered the second floor, the sound of the howling wind became stronger. Parker was surprised to see what a mess the café was in; chairs and tables overturned, trays and rubbish strewn around the floor and food left abandoned and uneaten. It was like the Mary Celeste, he thought. He walked into the centre of the room and called out.
“Hello? Anyone here?”
Only the wind and the rain answered him.
“Look at the storm, Parker, it’s so loud and...so thick!” said Cindy. The wind was slamming huge drops of rain against the windows. The sky, although it was still morning, was nearly black. Cindy peered through the glass. “I can’t see a thing,” she whispered.
“Come on,” said Parker, “let’s go out onto the terrace and see if we can see any better.” He took a cigarette out and pushed it into his mouth. Zipping his jacket up to his chin, he took Cindy’s hand.
“Don’t want you getting blown away,” he muttered. He was genuinely worried that a single gust would be enough to send her over the edge and onto the street below. It wasn’t easy replacing sisters. Cindy took his warm hand and her heart beat a little faster.
“Thanks,” she said timidly, and pulled her hood over her head so only her face was showing, peeking out like a rabbit from its warren.
Parker pushed open the door and it crashed back against the outside brick wall, the door handle ripped from his hands. His cigarette flew out of his mouth and he resigned to having to wait a bit longer for his nicotine fix.
They stepped over the door lip and out onto the terrace. In one corner, was a pile of shrubs and ornamental trees that the storm had uprooted and smashed into one green, flapping blob. The flat roof was wet and slippery and Parker gripped Cindy’s hand tighter. Slowly, step by step, they walked through the drenching rain and puddles, their heads bowed, until they reached the wall and could look over the side.
Thirty feet below them was a pile of bodies, at least fifty deep. Clothing blew around in the whirling wind, but Parker could see the dead faces below. On the road, and in the square in front of them, scores of people were running around. Fighting against the storm, some slipped and fell, only for someone else to jump on top of them. It was too far to see clearly what was going on, but Parker knew something terrible was happening. What was this madness?
“Look,” said Cindy. She clung onto Parker and pointed. An army truck was coming down the road and mowing down anyone who got in its way. Soldiers were firing from it and as far as Parker could tell, they were shooting aimlessly. Another truck appeared behind it and then another. The trucks slid to a halt in the middle of the plaza and the soldiers dispersed, shooting at random. Some of the people running around actually ran toward the soldiers. Parker later swore he saw people getting shot, but they carried on running. Given that was not humanly possible, most of the others believed that Parker had lost the plot.
Some of the soldiers down below in the plaza were overcome and Parker lost sight of them. Crazy people of all shapes and sizes ran around as if ‘The Anarchy Party’ had been voted into power. Across the square, he lost track of the numbers of soldiers he saw. Fire fights and fist fights exploded beneath the rain clouds. For every person that was knocked down, another stood up. It seemed that the soldiers were being outnumbered. Parker couldn’t understand why so many people were fighting them; surely they should welcome the army? They were on the same side weren’t they?
Suddenly, the brickwork beneath them exploded in a cloud of dust and Parker heard the bullets ripping into the wall. He dived back, pulling Cindy with him and they fell in a heap together, bullets pinging off the wall above them.
“Are you all right?” shouted Parker above the wind and the gunfire. Cindy did not answer. He rolled over in a deep puddle and pulled her to him. Parker shoved her hood back and saw where a bullet had entered her left eye. Cindy lay still. Her right eye was staring up at the heavens, unflinching, as the rain fell on her innocent face.
“Cindy?”
Parker scrambled to his feet and dragged her back inside the café. Once inside, he pulled the door shut and knelt over her on the cold damp floor.
“No, no, no, no, no.” Parker looked at Cindy laid out on the café floor, water pooling out beneath her. He pushed her hood back and gently laid her head down. The bullet had passed straight through her, killing her instantly. Blood was still seeping from the back of her head, congealing in the fur-lined hood.
“Oh, my God,” said Parker quietly. He had worked with Cindy for months. Only last week they had gone for a drink after work. He had been drinking coffee with her just one hour ago. How could she be dead? He was too stunned to cry. Parker sat back on the tiles and the sound of the gunfire outside diminished. The bodies; there were so many bodies out there. From their clothes, he knew they were city workers. Probably some from this building: from his own office.
Parker crept away from Cindy and rested his head against the cool interior wall. He fished a cigarette out from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled. Would the fire alarms work anymore? Parker didn’t care. How could he go back up and tell the others what had happened and what he’d seen? How could he tell them he had let Cindy get killed like this? Parker wrestled with his thoughts as the exit door at the opposite end of the café very slowly pushed open.
CHAPTER FOUR
Christina Spinnamaker was sat alone up on the twenty fifth floor, wondering how it had come to this. She had implored her staff to stay, practically begged them, yet not one of them had. Some of them had come up with plausible reasons: I need to get to my wife / children / parents. Some of them had not bothered disguising the truth; no. No excuses, just a simple no. At first, she couldn’t blame them for wanting to leave and had been tempted herself. Surely the reports had been exaggerated? Some sort of outbreak at St Thomas hospital was spreading and the infection was instantaneous. Go home. Stay indoors. A typical overreaction, she had no doubt, from on overreacting government. Always reacting, never acting.
But then the infection had reached the city. St Thomas hospital was a couple of miles away, but they had been told by security to stay indoors. There was no time to get home; just stay in the office, lock the doors, and wait for the all clear. It was then she began to wonder if the situation was as grave as they were being told. She was the only one in the office with internet access and she had tried all the news sites for information. Strangely there was nothing: the BBC, CNN, and all the independent sites were full of salacious scandal, but nothing of their current plight. Was it just a hoax?
Some of the staff had gotten jittery early on, saying they had received texts and calls from partners and family members, urging the
m to get home. It seemed word was spreading fast, yet officially, there was no news. She had tried calling security back, but just got the standard voicemail that they were busy and couldn’t answer the phone. One of her junior clerks, Edward, had volunteered to go down a floor and ask the lawyers on twenty four if they knew anything. She let him go and gave everyone else menial jobs to do; keep them busy, keep their minds occupied, she told herself, and they will respond to your authority. Her authority had lasted all of ten seconds, once Edward had come back.
He had run in shouting that they were all leaving, that all of the lawyers were running down the stairwell, going home, and getting out of the city. Edward told them he had spoken to one of his friends, a trainee barrister, Nigel.
“Haven’t you heard?” said Nigel, as he put his coat on.
“We haven’t heard shit. What’s going on?” Edward was holding onto his friend’s arm tightly. Edward feared Nigel would be gone down the stairs before he had got any answers at all.
“The dead? The sick? At St Thomas.’ Christ it’s unbelievable. You’ve got to get home mate. Come with me if you like. I’m off. Kathleen’s at home waiting for me.”
Nigel paced toward the exit, shaking a sweating Edward off.
“I can’t. I mean, I just have to run upstairs and tell the others. But what do you mean - the dead? What happened at the hospital? There’s fuck all on the news.”
Nigel paused by the exit holding the door open. Everyone else on the floor had left; it was now just him and Edward.
“You won’t find anything on the web, so don’t bother looking. They’re going to cover it up. Kathleen’s sister, Sally, you remember we met her last week? Well she’s a nurse at St Thomas’. Kathleen told me Sally got out in the nick of time before they got cut off. They took someone in who was sick, injured, and covered in mould and fungus and all sorts of shit apparently. Kathleen reckons it’s some sort of government science project gone wrong.