by Russ Watts
Tom didn’t know what to say. It was logical if a little odd, but these were odd times.
“Solid, buddy, solid,” said Brad. Parker walked out of the kitchen and approached them.
“What did you see?” he said calmly, wiping his hands on his trousers.
“A shit-storm of shit,” said Brad picking up a coke from a table. He chugged it down.
“Or in other words,” said Tom, “the doors are locked; which is probably a good thing. Right now, there are bunches of dead people trying to get in. Whatever this infection is that your dad told you about, Benzo, it’s fucked up.”
“Dead people? Come on, man,” Benzo looked sceptically at Tom. Parker silently nodded.
“If you don’t mind getting wet, take a look.” Tom walked over to the café’s terrace door and the others followed him. They filed out onto the flat roof, noticing the broken brickwork that the bullets had torn through, killing Cindy. Tom led them to the other side that he guessed would look down over the front doors.
“Holy fucking shit,” said Benzo slowly. Below them a crowd of zombies had gathered, stretching right into the square. The numbers were incomprehensible; on all sides of the plaza were skyscrapers, illuminated only by the weakening sun behind the rain clouds. A few windows were lit up but most of them were dark. Thousands and thousands of zombies jostled and shoved, trying to get into the buildings. They had succeeded in getting into the stock exchange; Tom could see zombies on the roof and on the ground, milling in and out of the building as if going about their daily business.
More poured out of the tube station and from across the bridge, mindless killing creatures swirling around the city deliriously. They battered at doors, windows, walls: anything that was between them and the living.
“Why?” said Parker. “What kind of infection does this?”
“Alien,” said Brad matter-of-factly. “Told you so, didn’t I. Never thought I’d see it in my day though.”
Parker snorted. “Alien my arse,” he said under his breath.
“My dad said it would come eventually,” said Benzo, “The breakdown of society, authority, laws & moral values. It’s not like he was fucking depressed or anything, but when a cop got killed last month he was...well. Look at it.” He could barely believe what he was seeing. “The streets are basically full of dead bodies. You see any sign of order out there? Respect for the living. Hell no. All I see is death.”
“I guess the streets aren’t paved with gold anymore, eh, buddy?” said Brad. Nobody appreciated his wisecrack and they ignored him. The air was cold and the depths of night were not far away.
“You know what?” said Tom, “we brought this on ourselves. These things, these zombies or whatever...they’re not going to the cinema or the shops. They don’t seem to have any reasoning and they’re not hanging out at home in front of the box. They might have died here, but they haven’t gone home have they. No, they’re going to where you spend ninety per cent of your daily adult life: work. What does that say about how we live our lives and where our priorities are? Hmm? I can’t see them leaving anytime soon if I’m right. God, I hope I’m not right.”
They were quiet. Parker thought that this new guy knew how to cut to the chase. He hadn’t spoken to him much yet, but he actually looked normal. He wore a dark grey suit, was of average height and had short cropped hair. He didn’t walk with a limp, tell you about how he had found the path of Jesus, or crack jokes about midgets. It was almost unusual to come across someone these days that you could class as ‘normal.’
“What’s that?” said Tom. He leant on the wall and tried to concentrate on the strange droning noise above the grunting and groaning of the zombies. The odd noise intensified and it seemed to be coming from above them. Shielding his eyes from the rain, he squinted up and saw a helicopter.
“Is that a bloody Chinook?” said Benzo. “What the hell?”
“Look out!” Tom shouted as he realised the helicopter was spinning out of control and heading straight for them.
CHAPTER SIX
At the last moment when Tom thought he was history, just another zombie-in-waiting, the helicopter flung itself across the roof and smashed into the Akuma Insurance building opposite. It hurtled into the second and third floors, the aviation fuel exploding as the helicopter churned a destructive path through the building, tearing into anything in its way. Brad was the first to pick himself up off the wet roof and look around.
There was a huge hole where the helicopter had entered the building. Streams of fire ran out of it and with the rain petering out, the fuel was burning well, setting the building and its contents alight. Parker marvelled as black smoke billowed out of the side of the building. On the street below, the zombies were not put off and soon found a crack in the wall caused by the explosion. With the building now exposed, they ran into it, seeking out the living.
“Come on, guys, let’s move,” said Tom. They went back into the dry café.
“Man, I thought we were toast,” said Brad sitting down at the nearest table.
“I can’t believe this,” said Benzo. He looked pale and was trying not to vomit.
“I have no explanation for what the fuck we deserved to get involved in this shit-storm,” said Brad, “but we gotta roll with it. There are people out there dead and dying. We can survive in here if we play this right.” They nodded in unison, agreeing with him.
“Well, it seems we’ll be spending the night.” Parker broke the sombre mood, shaking himself like a dog, sending droplets of water flying. “We should take some food and water back up with us.”
“True. Who knows how long we’re going to be stuck in here,” said Benzo scooping up a bottle of water. They quickly rifled through the cupboards, grabbing ready-made sandwiches and crisps, cans of coke and bottles of water.
“What was that with the helicopter?” said Tom as they walked up the stairs together, back to the sixteenth floor.
“You know those things weigh about ten tonnes,” said Benzo. “We’d be goners if it had come down on us.”
“I would say that was the last ditch attempt by the government to control this. And failing miserably, of course,” said Parker. “All those soldiers and trucks I saw earlier? Where are they now? If there’s one place in the country that the government would need to protect, surely it’s right here. And they failed.”
“How do you mean, buddy?” said Brad, “The failure part, well that’s obvious. But there are no residential areas here, no schools and no power plants. I would say their resources are spread trying to save the rest of the city. Who cares about us, really?”
“A lot of people actually, and a lot of politicians, too. Parker’s right. This area, these people that work here, they’re important; they’re not doctors or teachers, but they’ve got the one thing everyone wants: money,” said Tom, “Makes the world go round, right?”
“There’s something else, too,” said Benzo. “This is one of the most valuable and important places in the city, or even the country. Think how much this land alone is worth, plus the buildings on it. Yet, they haven’t been able to protect it.”
“And?” said Parker swinging his bag full of drinks over to the other shoulder.
“And what does that tell you about the rest of the country? The rest of it that’s not so valuable? What state is that in now?” said Benzo.
“Fucked up I’d say,” retorted Brad. A nervous laughter filled the void of the stairwell. They walked on in silence, occasionally stopping for a quick break to catch their breath.
Tom thought on what they’d said. He was also worried about downstairs. Those doors in the foyer may be bullet proof, but if enough of those things were pressed up against them, would their sheer weight be enough to break through?
Back on the sixteenth floor, they told Jill and the others of the zombies, the dead, and what it was like outside.
“We saw the chopper go down,” said Jackson.
“Yeah, we were worried about you,” said Jess
ica looking at Tom. She took a large bag of sandwiches from him and they continued talking. They all agreed they would have to sleep in the office tonight. There were some dissenting voices, but when it was pointed out that there was no way out of the building, quite literally, they soon quietened down. They made plans to spread out coats and cushions, whatever they could find to make themselves comfortable.
Jenny and a girl named Chloe, helped dish out the food. There was plenty to go round and Benzo had found a huge box of chocolate cookies in the café for which everyone was grateful. As the night drew darker, the office was illuminated by the computer screens. They switched the overhead lights off and the room was full of dancing images from computer screens: kittens, coloured balls, palm trees, and even a flying Jesus. There were a few tears when people realised they weren’t going home for the night: wives and husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends would be at home, alone, wondering where they were. With no internet and no phones, they had no way of reaching them. Tom didn’t say what he was thinking; that there might not even be anyone left to reach.
Jill retreated further into her shell. She felt awkward in the office now. They didn’t listen to her. She felt she had to remain aloof, to keep the chain of command, but now when it was needed most, she backed away from it. On a regular working day, if there was trouble, she could send them all an email. If a client was complaining, she could take the call in her office and deal with it. Now she was stuck in the office with seventeen staff members and nowhere to hide: her office was her only refuge.
Whilst the others talked and chatted until they fell asleep, Jill stayed in her office, watching and listening to them. She thought about Cindy down on the second floor, shoved into a meat locker with a bullet in her brain. She thought about her fish at home and who would feed them. She thought about her own life; how pathetic it was. She should be feeling free, taking command of the situation. But she was sleeping in a cramped office, eating a cheese sandwich with nothing but a crappy photocopier for company. Even her fish probably wouldn’t notice she wasn’t at home. Would her staff even notice if she wasn’t there?
* * * *
He flicked the camera off, disgusted. At first, he had been fascinated, even a little excited, but now - nothing but disgust and hatred. Ranjit picked up the phone again and tried dialling home. His wife should be home by now, so why wasn’t she answering? God help her if she had been caught up in this. He opened his wallet so he could see her face again and there she was. Keti, his wife of seventeen years was holding his daughter, Vachya. It was his favourite picture of them. His daughter had died of cot death not long after they had taken her home.
It wasn’t much longer after that when his wife had become distant. He loved her, and he thought she probably still loved him; but there was something between them now. She hadn’t wanted to try again.
“Keti, Keti, where are you?” he whispered. She was so beautiful. Compared to the people in this building, she was an angel. He wished he could see her again, but he was starting to doubt it was possible. Ranjit turned to the camera over the front door; they were still there.
He had to lock the front doors and then lockdown the entire building. He tried calling each floor, to evacuate, but it happened so fast that he hadn’t been able to reach everyone. His team had gone to the building perimeter to turn back the attackers, leaving him to deal with the internal issues. One by one his team failed to respond on their radios. One by one they had fallen. Watching the riots outside, Ranjit knew what was happening. His team was either being overrun, or were fleeing. He had seen Colm throw his radio on the floor just before he’d locked the front doors and run for the tube station. Ranjit had not seen him again, the coward.
He yawned and knew there was no choice; he was going to be spending the night here in this room. Thankfully, he had the foresight to furnish it with a vending machine a few years back so he wouldn’t go hungry or thirsty. He pulled open another can of lemonade. He wouldn’t be bored either. He would miss his wife, but there were fourteen monitors surrounding him and over sixty cameras throughout the building.
There was no way he could go home or open the doors now. Since the explosion earlier in the evening, the dead outside had only increased in number. The police call he received earlier hadn’t told him any specifics, but he had seen enough to know this was not something they could handle. He had seen people out on the street being attacked, bitten, and killed; moments later they got up and attacked someone else. He watched it over and over and over.
The cameras told him everything he needed to know, for now. Outside was a war zone; there weren’t hundreds of people outside, there were thousands. And they weren’t people anymore. He didn’t know what you would call them, but people who died and then got up again to kill were not normal. It wasn’t a white man’s disease either. Ranjit’s team consisted of British, Asian, and Americans, and the crowd banging on the building’s front door was a mixture of men and women, black and white, Chinese, European, and even some animals; a couple of dogs were trying to hack their way through the glass unsuccessfully. Occasionally, a bird or a bat would fly straight into the glass doors. It would thump against it and drop down to the ground, dead. Then its wings would stir, it would fly up into the sky again and minutes later, repeat the process.
Ranjit shuddered. He could live on chocolate bars and fizzy drinks only so long. He missed his wife’s cooking. She was probably at home now putting his uneaten korma in the fridge. Why hadn’t she tried to call him earlier? The phone lines just made clicking noises now. He couldn’t get through to anybody, not even the police. He needed to piss and he banged his fist on the desk in frustration, making all fourteen monitors shake.
The toilet was in the adjacent locker room, which was off limits. He locked the internal door when Stu had come back in, the only member of his team not to desert him. It turned out; someone had bitten Stu, so he came back in for first aid. Before Ranjit could haul himself from his chair, he watched on the monitor as Stu collapsed. What if he had been infected like the others? Ranjit locked the doors and true enough, moments later, Stu had gotten up. But he was not Stu anymore.
Ranjit wished the monitors had sound. The constant banging coming from the door to the locker room was annoying. How was he going to get any sleep with this racket going on? He looked at monitor five - Stu was still throwing himself against the door trying to get into Ranjit’s control centre. His face was covered in boils and he had not spoken a word in the last twelve hours. Ranjit tried to talk to him through the door, but it was useless. He could see from the camera clearly that Stu was dead. Somehow he was still moving around. How would he get out of here and back to Keti now? Perhaps Stu would get bored and give up. Ranjit knew that was unlikely; he hadn’t given up in the last twelve hours and showed no sign of tiring.
Ranjit yawned again and leant back on his chair. There was not much going on. Most floors were empty. There was a couple still on ten, one woman on twenty five, and a man that Ranjit recognised as one of the cleaners, on thirteen, but mostly the survivors were just on sixteen. He had to turn the camera off from eighteen; what was going on there was far worse than anything he had seen before.
Ranjit wondered how floor sixteen was managing. He moved the camera around but they all appeared to be sleeping now. There was the new boy on the sofa, Jill sleeping on her own in her office, and Parker curled up in a corner by the fire escape. Ranjit hadn’t seen Cindy die, but he had seen how cut up Parker was about it and felt sorry for the boy. They weren’t all bad.
There she was. Ranjit found who he was looking for lying next to Parker. The dyke receptionist, Jessica, was sound asleep only feet away from Parker. Did she swing both ways? Ranjit tried to think if he had ever seen her with a man, but couldn’t think of any time. He winced as a sharp pain flashed through his groin. He really needed to piss.
The locker room door vibrated as Stu threw himself against it and Ranjit wheeled his chair back trying to not listen. He plucked an empty
water bottle out of the bin and unzipped his trousers. As he sat in his chair, pissing into the bottle, the acrid stench of urine drifting up to his nostrils, he turned back to the monitors. The building was surrounded. More than that, the cameras showed that the whole plaza was surrounded. Dead corpses desperate to get in and a lifeless city: no street lights, no traffic, and no city workers going home late from the pub. Ranjit wondered again how he was going to get home to Keti, whilst the banging noise from his dead colleague, Stu, just increased.
* * * *
Around eleven, when most of the office was asleep, Jenny suddenly sat bolt upright. She looked over at Jackson who was reading a paperback and nudged him.
“Hey, Jackson, have you seen Amber?” she said quietly.
Jackson cleared his throat and thought for a minute.
“Not for a while, come to think of it. Why don’t you ask Brad, he went off with her earlier didn’t he?” Jackson yawned and lay back down, resuming his book.
Jenny rolled over and pulled her ample frame up using a desk to hold onto. Treading carefully between sleeping bodies, she went over to Brad who was chatting to Parker quietly.
“Brad, have you seen Amber? She’s not here and I’m worried. You were with her this afternoon weren’t you?” Jenny hated talking to him. She knew he despised her, called her names behind her back, and on more than one occasion, to her face.
“Yeah, we did some exploring this afternoon. I left her on ten. She was going through the drinks cabinet we found. I wanted to come back and help the group, so I left her there. I wouldn’t worry, she’s probably sleeping it off.” His blue eyes stared at her and Jenny, unable to hold his gaze, looked down at the floor.
“Okay, well if you’re sure? You don’t think we should go look for her?”
“Go back to sleep, Jenny,” Brad said.