Clayton could have gone down a very different road if not for the love of his wife who he absolutely worshipped. The very ground she walked on was sacred to him, the thought of someone hurting her precious pale skin enough to send him into a seething rage. There was no denying that she was the better half of him, keeping him out of trouble and tempering the volatile side of his nature. She made sure he kept control of his temper which, in his younger years, had been known to boil over into acts of wanton violence. To this day he didn’t know how he was so lucky to find a woman like that, and now she was locked away with the rest of the sick and the dying. It wasn’t right that she be taken from him like that.
Earlier he had been all intent on storming the Astrodome to get her out, more out of blind panic than any real distrust for the military’s intentions. If not for the intervention of the Sherriff’s deputy, things might well have become really unpleasant. So he held a secret thanks to Reece’s interference, for his actions had been foolishly impulsive. No matter how many of the soldiers they had killed, there would have been no getting into the Astrodome. To do that needed proper planning.
He still didn’t want his wife in there, and when he finally broke her out, Clayton knew she would understand. If she was going to die, he wanted it to be in his arms so that HE and he alone could do what was required to be done to end her suffering. As wise as she had seemed, the Deputy had been wrong about one thing. Mrs Clayton wasn’t where she needed to be. Where she needed to be was here with him. If only if to just be able to say goodbye.
The call to arms he had received had told him everything he needed to know to assist in the fight against the zombie menace, his men now helping guard several checkpoints to ensure the flow of people around the city was kept under control and to a minimum. Clayton would have his people do their duty in that regard for now, but he would also do what ultimately needed doing so as to rescue the most amazing woman he had ever met. Clayton just hadn’t figured out how he was going to do that yet.
If people were going to die, it should be in the presence of the people who loved them the most. And whilst Clayton knew he could voluntarily go into the Astrodome to be with her, he could not abide spending his last days in a glorified concentration camp. He wouldn’t go out that way and would go down all guns blazing if anyone tried to force that fate on him. Instead he plotted, his drunken mind trying desperately to formulate what would ultimately end up being a flawed and grandiose plan to rescue his wife. It would mean storming the wire. It would mean creating a diversion. There were three hundred men and women at his beck and call who would pretty much do what he told them to do.
He had already told the militia sub commanders. They all told him that they backed him one hundred per cent, although he knew he only had some of their loyalty. In his drunken haze, he found himself wondering how many of them he could truly rely on. Clayton was to end up being pleasantly surprised.
***
Reece sat up in the stands eating the MRE she had been given. It tasted as bad as it looked, but she forced it down, her taste buds pretty much shot from the runny nose and the cough that had been forming all day. She felt like she had a mild cold, nothing that she would have taken a day off work for though.
It was deserted where she sat, the cages filling the football field below. Reece had no idea how many cages there were, and quite frankly she didn’t want to know. There was no doubt the number would depress her, especially as now they were all starting to fill up. The Astrodome was already at two thirds capacity, neighbours and co-workers undoubtedly reporting suspected infected with increasing regularity. Self-referrals seemed to be a minority when it came to infection reporting. The army were busy out there rounding up what they could and trying to fight what they missed.
It would be getting difficult for them now as well. A program such as this could only work with the willing consent of the population. Already there was talk of armed resistance, of soldiers being fired upon from windows and in the streets. Many of the people who had been labelled as infected were not coming quietly, which meant the army and the police were suffering growing casualties, all whilst their ranks were being thinned from within by Lazarus. Reece wasn’t the only infected person in uniform here, many of them much further gone than she was. Most of those in her position had freely given up their weapons when their symptoms became too debilitating. One or two had foolishly resisted. That didn’t end well for them.
Those in uniform who carried the infection were easy to spot by the monitors they wore and the fact there was no point wearing any kind of personal protective equipment.
Considering some of the people she encountered here, Reece thought she was coping with the disease pretty well. Her bowels felt fine, and she hadn’t as yet needed to throw up, although there had been hints of nausea especially with food of this dire quality. Whilst she was certain it would shortly get a lot worse, she was thankful that she was so far having a relatively easy time of it. Everyone down there was suffering badly, the smell of vomit and human waste reaching her even here. Taking the fork to the morsel masquerading as food, she forced another bite down. If armies were supposed to march on their stomach, Reece was amazed America hadn’t been invaded by now. How were people supposed to live off this crap?
But then perhaps it had been conquered, only the invader had no interest in the oil wells and the gold stored in the nation’s vaults. The invader in this case cared only for the cells and the blood of the people who called themselves Americans.
Reece heard the person walking down the stadium steps behind where she sat, and turned to see the image of one of the CDC doctors making their way towards her, all spruced up in full hazmat finery. Dr Jee Lee had been there to admit Reece to the facility, and had done Reece’s blood tests as well as locking the monitor onto her arm. Reece could tell that the thirty something doctor had been drained and close to burnout with the workload so the Deputy had struck up a conversation with her. As lonely as Reece had often felt before the apocalypse began, she had no problem when it came to talking to people and had quickly learnt that the doctor’s first name was Jee.
“Jee Lee, you can imagine all the fun the kids had with that in secondary school.”
Jee sat down next to Reece, who jokingly offered to share the delectable meal she was forcing herself to consume.
“Are you kidding? You want me to throw up in this suit?”
“It’s delicious,” Reece lied.
“Is that how you get suspects to confess? Force them to eat that crap?”
“Hey,” Reece countered, “you guys are the ones serving this swill up.”
“Yeah okay, I’ll give you that. How you feeling Clarice?” Jee didn’t need to take Reece’s pulse, the monitor told her all that and more.
“Checking up on me now are you?” Reece liked Jee, she had a refreshing honesty in her communication and a way about her that easily instilled trust. She was also prone to smiling, which was a rarity in this place. In a better time, they might even have become friends.
“Totally. I’ve decided you are my star patient. All the grunts are talking about the kickass babe who helped stop a massacre at the front gate. Rumour has it half the men here have the hots for you.”
“Only half?” Reece acted upset at the news.
“The other half are too far gone to even see straight, Clarice.” Jee’s train of thought was broken by the sound of gunshots down on the playing field. Somewhere in that maze of cages, another unfortunate victim had taken the final step with Lazarus. There were too many people held here to even contemplate using anything but a gun to kill the zombies when they arrived into the world. That had been the second one since Reece sat down. “Do you ever get used to it?” Jee asked.
“Depends what you’re referring to.”
“You deal with the risk of violence every day. I can’t help but feel everyone we have to shoot is another example of how we’ve failed.”
“You’re doing the best you can,” Reece noted
. “I’m still amazed all this could be put up so quickly.”
“So was I,” Jee admitted. “It was all stockpiled in a FEMA warehouse on the edge of the city. Apparently the then Governor decided he wanted Texas to be ready for everything, especially the inevitable global pandemic we all knew was coming. The CDC and FEMA have similar operations going on in San Antonio, Dallas and Austin. For once, someone actually did what they were supposed to do.” A question suddenly formed in Recce’s mind, but she kept it to herself. Why would they need cages to fight a pandemic?
“Is there any word on other parts of the country?”
“The rust belt states have so far been pretty much unaffected, some of them have even started cutting themselves off from the rest of the country where they can. But all the big cities are in trouble. We try not to talk about that here though, unofficial rule. Atlanta’s doing alright, although for how long I don’t know.” At the start, Jee had been glued to the news, but now she barely watched it. It depressed her too much and she wanted to concentrate on the important job which was saving as many people as she could. Reece looked at her new acquaintance and for the first time noticed the bags under her eyes.
“When was the last time you slept?” Reece asked.
“Sleep? Oh yes, I remember that. I’ve probably had an hour in the last forty-eight.”
“I won’t tell you to look after yourself then. You’re a doctor, you already know.” Jee gave her a sarcastic look and then pulled something from a pouch on her suit’s utility belt.
“Thanks Mom. Now give me your arm.” Jee unzipped the pouch and withdrew the blood testing kit. Reece was already wearing a short sleeved top and she rotated her body so that the CDC doctor could get at the arm without the monitor on.
“I swear this place is actually run by a cult of vampires.” Jee didn’t need to stick a fresh needle in, all the patients here had Venflons inserted. Better to risk a needle stick once than multiple times. Once the blood was drawn, Jee put it into a clear plastic bag.
“Jee, can I ask you something?”
“Sure Clarice.”
“What happens when you run out of room?”
“If needs be, we start doubling up on the cages.” Jee knew she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that, nobody really wanted to be in a cage with someone that might turn into a zombie.
“Jesus,” Reece suddenly had a flash to her future.
“That won’t happen to you. I have assurances you will be confined to the room we have given you should it come to that. I told you, the soldiers running this place have got a lot of respect for what you did when you arrived.”
“Don’t you mean when?” Reece watched the doctor stand, a distant look now on Jee’s face.
“You keep out of trouble now Clarice, okay?”
“I promise to be home before eleven thirty, mum.” Reece could sense the tension in the doctor’s voice. If they were already planning to double up on the cages, what happened when they had to triple up? The city had millions of people. As large as this facility was, could it even cope with what was coming? As if to answer Reece’s question, another series of gunshots came from the maze below.
Jee walked away. She tried to supress the excitement that was threatening to grow inside her. The monitor Reece was wearing sent real time data to the computers they had set up. Whereas everyone else was showing a steady, and sometimes rapid decline towards the final stages of the Lazarus infection, Reece if anything seemed to be stabilising. It’s not something she wanted to tell the Deputy just yet, because being given false hope only to have that dashed could be psychologically devastating.
Jee was eager to get this blood test checked, the CDC having set up an entire testing lab in the tent city now present on the Astrodome car park. If Reece was immune, then that changed everything.
23.08.19
Preston, UK
Whittaker lay in the dark, still struggling with the fate the Gods had decided for him.
The accommodation they had provided Whittaker was infinitely superior than his last residence. He had a room to himself for once, with a door that actually locked on the inside. The bed was more comfortable than any regulation army mattress, clearly designed for sick people who needed extra TLC. He even had his own bathroom. To the army corporal, it was almost luxury.
The guy called Nick had led him here and whilst they hadn’t locked him up, it was clear to him that he still wasn’t a free individual. If he really was immune, he would be invaluable to the war that was being fought on the streets and in the bloodstreams of every person in this country. Whittaker could live with that. He was a soldier, and he would be just playing a different part in the battle that was unfolding. As much as it was his job, he really didn’t think he wanted to be on the front line fighting undead hordes. So let them do their blood tests. After the shit he’d seen, he would be happy to sleep and stay in this room for the rest of the month. Hell, the rest of the year.
Captain Beckington had been in to see him to let him know what would be done over the coming days. That was when Whittaker had learnt about the other immune individual in the room next door, the woman who was likely now asleep. At least he wasn’t alone in this. If there were two of them there would be more, perhaps the start of something. The fight against the undead might be being lost, but maybe the virus could be defeated. That would mean people wouldn’t have to be afraid of themselves and the soldiers would be freed from the NBC suits that had a finite life and came with gas masks that would eventually become useless as the filters all failed. Whittaker knew nothing about how vaccines were made, so his visions of his usefulness were perhaps somewhat exaggerated.
Despite how tired he was, sleep refused to come at first, the carnival in his head constantly going over everything that had happened. He had seen people die, had felt forced to desecrate their corpses to stop them returning from the dead. He thought that was something he could get his head around, but to witness an enemy as powerful and as relentless as the one they now faced left him feeling hopeless. The undead didn’t seem to need sleep, and although it was said they craved the flesh of the living, they didn’t need food to sustain themselves. They would just keep on going relentlessly. On the ride here, Whittaker had shared a Land Rover with Beckington, and after an initial tense hour, the Captain had started opening up to him. Beckington had told him things the top brass had wanted kept from the lower ranks. Things were worse than the soldiers were being told.
Great swathes of the country were being abandoned, whole cities given over to the dead, the virus having spread faster than anyone could have imagined. London, Glasgow, Cardiff and Birmingham were the worst so far. There just wasn’t the manpower to combat this menace, and much of the command and control structure that was in charge of running things was gone, the heads of the government either dead or dying.
The battle was also being hampered by the lack of air dominance, planes and helicopters being grounded in parts of the country due to the deadly threat of zombified birds. That was why they hadn’t sent Whittaker north by helicopter, it was deemed too risky. Nearly a fifth of Britain’s combat helicopters had been lost, the rest now waiting for the time when the undead birds could no longer fly.
Then there was the good news. The Colonel who was working on an antiserum. Not a full cure, but at least something to reverse the disease in those infected. Something at least to hold back the tide. And that was why Whittaker was here. It was hoped that his blood might hold the answers to the secrets of Lazarus. And yet he had seen the eyes of the condemned soldiers when he had been picked from amongst them due to his apparent immune status. There was a glimmer of hope there, but also envy. In one or two eyes, he had also seen hatred.
Whittaker was pretty certain he knew what happened to the men he had been locked up with. The army was not above sacrificing its own to eliminate an immediate threat. They had been kept alive because they were hoping for a miracle. When that miracle arrived, the fates of the rest of them were sealed. Perha
ps that explained the hate. His presence in the room, even though not by his own volition, had sentenced the rest of them to an early death.
***
Jessica slept, although her body tossed and turned on the bed, the nightmare worse than usual. Every time she took a dream step, the desert seemed to be hotter, her skin more crusted, the fear of the horsemen more intense. Only later would she learn what the nightmares meant and why she shared the same dream with other immune individuals. It would warn of the battle still to come.
It would be Nick who would figure the enigma out, something in Jessica’s conversation with Azrael that had sparked the neuron that sprouted the thought in Nick’s head. Through Natasha he had asked Moros whether, given the information provided, the immune could somehow be linked. Moros had come back with its analyses.
Given the unknown neural affects Lazarus has on the brain, and the lack of reported nightmares pre infection by the limited patient base, I can only give a 57% probability that there is a causal link between immunity and the cognitive disturbance reported. More data is essential. My database does contain classified data on MI13 and CIA research into paranormal abilities, which were all deemed negative after countless trials. I cannot therefore speculate on the question as to whether the immune are somehow linked telepathically.
None of that mattered now. Infected by a disease Jessica had beaten, her mind had awakened to a network that spanned space and time. Across the globe, the immune were being exposed to a virus that was no more deadly to them than the common cold. As their bodies fought off the invader, it would give them a gift and a curse, unlocking something that had perhaps lain dormant for tens of thousands of years. The dreams would show each of them who they were, but only in a realm of utter torment. There they could suffer together and see the truth in each other’s tortured eyes. It would also warn them of the threat yet to come.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise Page 39