Devouring The Dead (Book 1)

by Russ Watts

  A piece of paper flitted around Caterina’s feet and she stepped on it. She picked it up and read it.

  “Wait!” she said.

  “What is it?” asked Christina.

  “I don’t know. It’s some kind of evacuation notice. Here, look.” Caterina handed the paper to Christina.

  “This is an enforced evacuation of the Greater London area,” she read. “All residents are advised to meet at their local community centre or nearest police station. Do not bring any belongings or bags with you. Anyone doing so will be turned away or forced to leave them behind.”

  Christina stopped reading aloud and muttered something inaudible. To Caterina it sounded a lot like ‘we’re fucked.’

  “Go on,” said Tom. “What else?”

  “All train, underground, and bus stations, airports and ports, will be sealed as at 01.00 hours on the sixteenth. Any attempt to leave after this time will be met with deadly force. The infection must be contained. There will be a zero tolerance for any signs of infection. All healthy citizens are urged to evacuate as instructed or, we repeat, face deadly force. There’s a signature on the bottom and it’s printed on government paper. There’s some sort of insignia at the bottom from the Department of Defence.”

  “The sixteenth? That was two days ago wasn’t it?” said Jessica.

  “Are you fucking kidding? You mean we’ve been left behind? There’s no help coming?” said Rosa.

  “I don’t care what that bullshit says,” said Jackson. “I’m not stopping now.” He turned and carried on walking toward the terminal with Benzo on his shoulders.

  “Jackson, they said deadly force. What if..?” Jessica caught up with him.

  “Do you see anything, Jess? The only deadly force around here is this stinking infection and the millions of dead it’s left behind. The military? Don’t make me laugh. They’re long gone.”

  “I agree,” said Caterina, “I don’t see anyone around. I say let’s keep going. Even if there’s nobody here we need a decent rest, some food. I’m so hungry and tired.”

  “Medical supplies,” said Jackson determinedly. “We need medical supplies for Benzo.”

  They walked on, following Jackson. If the whole city had been evacuated, thought Tom, they were going to struggle to get out. Would they be able to find another boat? Would the roads be blocked? Surely if they got to the city edge and could prove they weren’t infected, the army would have to help them? Getting to the city’s edge would be a tall order though. The anxious group walked on with similar thoughts; sullen, worried thoughts. They had been abandoned.

  They didn’t notice the aeroplane’s door open. A lone figure walked down the steps onto the runway and watched the group approach down the runway. The figure took up a position behind one of the deserted army jeeps, crouched down out of sight, and trained his scope on the advancing party. When they were close, he fired a warning shot that whistled just above their heads.

  “That’s far enough!” shouted Private Ferrera.

  They dropped to the ground, Caterina and Rosa screaming.

  “Don’t shoot!” shouted Tom. Jackson continued walking.

  “I said that’s far enough. That was a warning shot. Any closer and I am authorised to use deadly force. Stop!”

  Jackson continued walking toward the vehicles. He wasn’t sure where the shot had come from, but he knew it was a lone shot. If the army had left a post here to guard the airport, they would have had a bigger welcoming party than one man with a gun.

  “We’re unarmed civilians,” shouted Jackson. “You are not at war with us soldier, so stand down. The enemy is the other side of that fence. I have an injured man here who needs urgent medical assistance. I demand...”

  “You demand? You demand?” Ferrera stood up, staying behind the jeep and keeping the gun trained on Jackson.

  “God damn it,” said Ferrera quietly as he decided what to do next. This old man was not taking him seriously. Ferrera couldn’t risk getting infected.

  Another bullet shattered the tarmac in front of Jackson as Ferrera fired again, his shot missing Jackson by millimetres. It spat up gravel and dirt from the runway and Jackson finally stopped walking. He slumped to the ground and lowered Benzo down gently off his shoulders.

  “You’re too late for help. You need to turn around and keep walking. My next shot will not miss,” shouted Ferrera.

  Jackson knelt over Benzo, his head blocking the sun, shielding it from Benzo’s red tired eyes.

  “It’s okay, Benzo, I’m going to find help,” Jackson said.

  Another figure walked out from the terminal behind the soldiers. Tom watched as the other man slipped out of a door quietly. He didn’t appear to be with the military; he wore black trousers and shoes with a white shirt. He was, however, holding a gun too. The man was sneaking up on the soldier stealthily.

  “What the hell is this?” whispered Tom quietly to Christina. She slowly shook her head, too scared to speak in case the soldier fired again and decided to take someone’s head off. Jackson stood up and took a step forward. He was now about fifteen feet from the soldier.

  “Back off. I gave you a chance to leave,” shouted Ferrera. “You’ve run out of warnings, old timer.”

  Jackson watched as Ferrera aimed his gun carefully at him.

  “Jesus, we shouldn’t have come here,” whispered Jessica.

  “We need help, that’s all,” said Jackson holding his hands up. He had faced bigger boys with bigger toys over his lifetime. “Then we’ll leave, okay?”

  Jackson took another step forward. Tom braced himself, expecting the soldier to fire, to shoot Jackson dead before their very eyes. The other man suddenly appeared from behind a truck and startled them all.

  “Ferrera, leave them,” barked the lone man.

  “Back off, I’m dealing with this,” said Ferrera surprised. He whirled round and the two men pointed their guns at one another.

  “Not any more, these people need our help,” said the man.

  “We’ve got a good thing going here, mate. You’ve got yours and I’ve got mine. I thought we were clear on that?” said Ferrera. “Don’t go spoiling things now. You know full well these people are probably infected. We can’t risk letting them in. I won’t risk it. You...”

  A gunshot rang out and they all ducked; Tom, Christina, Caterina, Jessica, and Rosa, dropped to the ground instantly. Jackson stayed on his feet and watched as the soldier crumpled. Ferrera let out a scream and fired his gun, but the bullets missed wildly and tore through the truck by the lone man. Jackson watched as the man who had shot the soldier raced out from behind the truck, apparently unharmed, and kicked Ferrera’s gun away. It skidded over the tarmac and came to rest underneath a car, well out of reach of the soldier.

  Jackson strode over to help, as Ferrera continued to scream. Blood was pouring from his gut. The lone man handed his gun to Jackson.

  “Here, hold this. If he moves, shoot him again.”

  Jackson took the weapon and shook the stranger’s hand vigorously.

  “Thank you, thank you. Can you help us? Do you know what’s going on? We’ve an injured man here who’s sick, we...”

  “Slow down,” said the man. “I’ll help you best I can.”

  The stranger had begun tying Ferrera’s hands and feet, although Jackson suspected it would prove to be redundant; from the look of the pale soldier, he didn’t have long left. Ferrera’s screaming had stopped and he was shaking and shivering, holding his stomach.

  “It’s all right guys, we’re safe,” called Jackson to the others. Rosa sank to her knees sobbing and Jessica put an arm around her. She was so relieved she let her tears flow too, trying to wash away the tension from her head.

  “Who’s injured?” asked the man as he finished tying Ferrera up. He took the gun back from Jackson. “That man you brought here, is he infected?”

  “Yes, is there a cure? Is there anything you can do?”

  “What’s your name?” asked the man putt
ing the gun back in his belt.

  “Jackson.”

  “Well, Jackson, if your friend is infected, then unfortunately there’s nothing we can do. The best thing you can do for your friend now, is to put him out of his misery and put a bullet between his eyes.”

  Jackson looked downcast. He looked back toward Benzo still lying on the ground. Tom and Christina were kneeling over Benzo and obscured him from Jackson’s vision. They knew the end was near and were trying to comfort him. Jessica and Rosa were still a little way off, holding each other as the harsh sun dried their tears.

  “We don’t have a gun,” said Jackson forlornly. “We thought maybe...will you...can you..?”

  The stranger nodded and looked down at Ferrera who was quiet now. They had propped the soldier up against the tyre of a truck and his face was almost white. Ferrera’s clothes were soaked in blood and he knew he was dying. Jackson led the strange man across the tarmac.

  “Sorry about the welcoming party, I should’ve taken care of him earlier,” said the stranger.

  “What’s your name?” Jackson asked him as they walked.

  “Enrique, Enrique Benzema. But call me Harry. I’m a DI in the Met’. Was...”

  Jackson only half took in the man’s words. He was thinking about Benzo. His friend was dying and there was nothing they could do. He had thought they might find help here at the airport: a way out, a cure, something to give them hope. Now he felt none. Jackson felt empty. All they had found was a psychotic soldier and an abandoned airport. As they neared the others, Jackson suddenly stopped.

  “Wait. Your name again, Benzema. Did you say DI Benzema?”

  “Yeah?” The man saw that Jackson recognised his name and felt for his gun. In this new world, you couldn’t be too careful. Surprises now were rarely good ones.

  “Harry, I don’t suppose you’re the same DI Benzema that would have a son, Marin Benzema? Benzo, we call him. We worked together at Fiscal Industries? Is that...”

  “Yes,” said the man clearly shocked. “How do you know? Do you know where he is? I’ve been trying to...”

  DI Benzema trailed off when he saw Jackson’s face drop. He turned to the group and they parted. After searching and waiting for days, Harry finally saw his son. His little boy, Marin, lay on the tarmac. Benzo looked dead already.

  “Marin!”

  As Harry crouched over Benzo, Tom went over to Jackson.

  “Who is he? What’s going on?”

  “That’s Benzo’s father, Harry.”

  Jackson left as Tom watched Harry cradling Benzo. Tom knew that Benzo was barely holding onto life. He was surprised he had made it this far. Tom motioned for Christina, Jessica, and Caterina to follow him.

  “We need to give them some space,” said Tom explaining to the others who the stranger was.

  Tom found Jackson with the soldier. He was holding him up by his shirt collar and the soldier’s arms hung limply at his side. Jackson was forcing Ferrera back against the truck.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? What the hell is going on? Answer me, God damn it!”

  “You know what’s going on, don’t bullshit me. What, have you been living under a rock?” Ferrera coughed and a thin trickle of blood spilled from his mouth.

  “Where is everyone? Where’s the army, the survivors, the police?” Jackson said, shaking Ferrera.

  Tom and Christina looked on, unwilling to step in. Quite frankly, they were content to let Jackson interrogate this soldier. Caterina was quiet and eager to hear the story too.

  “You really don’t know? Ha!” Ferrera laughed but the attempt to smile only brought more pain. “The country is under quarantine. You should’ve left with the evacuation. You’re as good as dead now. Like me.”

  Jackson let go of Ferrera and he fell to the ground. He curled up into a ball. Jackson stormed off shaking his head. Tom bent down and took Ferrera’s hand.

  “Tell me.”

  “Some infection,” said Ferrera. “Something crazy. It happened quickly, spread out like wildfire. Reckoned it started near Westminster Bridge. London was gone within twenty four hours.”

  “What do you mean, ‘gone’? You’re telling me some superbug killed millions of people that quickly? It doesn’t exist,” said Tom.

  “Superbug? You could call it that. We had orders not to let it get into the public domain, but I guess it’s too late for that now. It was some sort of alien infection. That’s why we couldn’t stop it. There was just no way of containing it. Last I heard, they were working on a cure, but...

  “What’s the survival rate?” asked Tom.

  “Zero. You get infected, you die. Simple. At first, we tried to quarantine the city, but it spread too fast. I was stationed here to guard the airport. Our orders were relayed to us remotely until finally they stopped coming. My platoon split not long after, went their own way. Some tried for home, some said they were going to try to get a boat or a plane.”

  “And did they? I mean there must be a way out?”

  Ferrera shrugged. “What do you think? We didn’t get many out of the city before it was closed down. Based on the numbers they worked out, how many died and how many lived. In round numbers...barely one per cent. You lot must’ve been shit lucky to keep out of it for so long.”

  Only one per cent, thought Tom. If that were so, then in a city of about six million there could be fifty to sixty thousand left alive, if that. Of those, how many had survived the last few days on the streets without weapons, aid, water, and food?

  “So when you closed down the city, what happened to the rest of the country?” said Christina. She was stood behind Tom, arms folded.

  Ferrera looked up at her and then back down to Tom. “That got fucked too. I heard of outbreaks in all the cities, all the way up to Scotland.”

  Ferrera winced and drew in a sharp breath. “Shit, are you going to help me or what?”

  Tom let go of his hand and stood. “What do you say, Christina?”

  “Leave him to rot,” she said. Christina took Tom’s hand and they left Ferrera in the shadow of the truck. “Tom, he said ‘alien.’ Do you think he was telling the truth? Sounds a bit...”

  “Far-fetched? Yeah, but I believe him. He’s got nothing to gain by lying to us now. Whatever is happening to us doesn’t seem like anything I’ve ever heard of or seen before. I guess it’s as likely as anything else.” Tom could see Caterina walking toward them. “Look, Christina, I don’t think there’s anything to gain by letting the others know what he said, about the alien thing. Keep it between us for now.”

  Christina nodded as Caterina joined them. They surveyed the scene in front of them. Jessica and Rosa were still sat on the tarmac, tired, scared, and drained.

  “If what he says is true, Tom,” said Christina, “then we don’t just need to get out of the city, we need to get out of the country. And quick. If so few people survived this thing, then there might be a quarter of a million people left in the whole of the country, if we’re lucky.”

  “And it’s not the six million zombies in London we have to worry about either,” said Tom. “If it’s taken this country, then there are around seventy million zombies trying to sniff us out.”

  “Jesus Christ guys, look,” said Caterina.

  Benzo was getting to his feet. Harry was only a few feet away from him, watching. Benzo stood and seemed to wobble. His neck was leaning to one side and his arms were stiff. They heard Benzo emit a low growl before Harry pulled his gun out and shot him in the head. Benzo’s body crashed to the ground and Harry fell to his knees.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Freddy banged on the door unable to escape. The office had become a cell from which he would never escape. The financial ties that bound him to Fiscal Industries would never break, never let him go now. He would spend the rest of his days in the world his living body had longed for.

  Rob wandered through the underground car park. His rotting body had followed the crowds underneath the building when the others h
ad escaped, but in the darkness, his infected brain had lost track of the living, lost track of what it was supposed to be doing, and left his body to shamble the damp darkness and the dark dampness endlessly.

  Cindy’s body was perfectly preserved. Save for the bullet hole where her eye should be, she looked as beautiful as the day she was born. To the inquisitive rodents who scampered across the frigid floor, it looked like she was sleeping soundly in the cold locker she had been left in. She had died cleanly, uninfected, and this huge fridge would hold her until the building fell.

  Chloe and Amber finally found peace on the sixteenth floor. Chloe’s body lay where Brad and Tom had left it, her skull crushed, her arms and hands tangled in the mess of wires beneath her desk where she had sat for months on end giving out useless advice. Amber’s charred remains hid the abuse that Brad had dispensed upon her. Her burning body had bounced around the office until it finally gave into nature, accepting it was dead, and collapsed. Her corpse was next to Troy, who in turn was spread-eagled over Dina. Her bloated carcass had been unable to get out from under a pile of bodies and it still twitched now, unable to muster enough energy from its torn useless limbs to stand.

  Ranjit had no resting place. Once he had been ripped apart, he had been devoured, only his belt buckle and gold wedding ring not ingested by the cannibalistic zombies. Mrs Conway from Greenwich had eaten his legs, a young girl who used to be called Sally, shared his face with a recently deceased stockbroker, and Ranjit’s ample belly had provided several schoolchildren with enough fresh meat to keep them going for weeks.

  Parker had not moved from the spot he had died in the conference centre. That is to say, his infected corpse had indeed awoken, but had found itself trapped in a small room with nothing but a table of mouldy sandwiches for company. Parker’s body had stumbled around the room for thirty seven hours before it succumbed to a strange apathy and slumped back down on the very spot it had expired. The infected body listened, smelt the air and tried to sense the living; it could not. Parker would stay there for several days before a passing survivor would rouse his body into the big bad outside world.