His wife clung to him like he was the last hope she had on Earth. There was no hope, even though she still breathed and wailed, there was no denying the fact that she was already dead.
“Why?” she asked. He couldn’t answer and he gently pulled himself from her grasp. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. They still had a feral creature in the house and another daughter to protect. That was assuming he wasn’t already too late, both his daughters having shared a room together. Emily, the oldest daughter, was still unaccounted for.
“I need to find Emily,” he said almost wanting his wife to tell him now that he needed to stay with her. “Lock yourself in the bathroom. Can you do that?” The lawman was finally coming out now, the training starting to kick in. When he stood up, he pulled the pistol from his gun belt which he had slung over the post at the foot of the bed. He had wanted it to hand, a hand that was now slick with the gore that had covered the zombie. Almost as an afterthought, he wiped the hand on the bed, desecrating the sheets there even further.
“Save my baby,” his wife begged as Rodriguez left the room. He didn’t look back at her, for he knew that to do so would break the final strand in his heart. Incredibly, he found himself suddenly wishing his father in law was here. Not for the help he might have given, but for the very real fact that he might have been the one the zombie would have attacked first. If the man he had never really liked had been present, his wife might have been saved. But the father in law wasn’t here, and Rodriguez was alone to face the most torturous experience in his life so far.
Off in the furthest bedroom of the expansive cabin, floorboards creaked. Rodriguez ignored the sound, instead stepping into his daughter’s new bedroom, turning on the light with a heart stopping moment. There were two beds here, one empty, one occupied. The figure in the occupied bed stirred with the light, bleary eyes looking out from under covers that were pulled up to the chin.
“Dad?” Emily said. She sounded upset that she had been woken. There was no injury visible, no evidence of violence. Thank God, he thought. At least I have one.
“Dad, I feel sick.” The words cut into him like the sharpest of knives.
“It’s okay, honey,” Rodriguez heard himself say, and he stepped into the room. The other bed was fetid, the covers thrown back to reveal its occupant had pissed themselves. There was a bloody stain across the virginity of the pillows. This is where his daughter had died, from a disease nobody understood and that only the rare few could fight.
He had been worried about being on the streets and bringing Lazarus back to his home, only for the children to be the vector of transmission. This would be the scourge of mankind in the early days, infection rates amongst children high because of the way they were congregated together in schools and nurseries so as to spread the virus amongst themselves.
He said the words again, but it wasn’t okay. Emily coughed then, a bone chilling affair as her body shook with the force her lungs used to express whatever it was that was irritating them. Blood appeared on her lips, splattering across the pillow. No, it wouldn’t be okay, and she started to cry. Rodriguez wanted to rush to her, to hold her in his arms, but what could he do? He couldn’t cure her.
He went to her regardless, pulling her out from under the sheets, holding her, the heat from her body far in excess of what was normal. The gun he placed at the foot of the bed within his easy reach. She was burning up now, clearly on her way to the same fate as her sister. In another part of the house, something shattered causing Emily to flinch in her arms.
“It’s going to be all right,” he lied.
“Mummy,” Emily begged, the word slightly slurred. There was no denying the truth that she was infected. Was that why she hadn’t been attacked? Rodriguez didn’t know that sometimes the undead left those who were about to join their ranks alone. Holding her like that, he never wanted to let go, her quiet sobs his penance for all the wrongs he had committed in this world. He wasn’t a wicked man, but like any Catholic, he knew his sins could never even be counted. In that moment he wasn’t even sure if he believed in God anymore. What kind of supreme being would allow such horrors to befall its creations?
He still had the gun and he knew what he had to do.
“We need to get you back in bed now so you can be well.” She resisted, but he was firm, breaking her hold on him, easily manhandling her back onto the bed. He didn’t bother with the sheets, but sat next to her as he smoothed her hair with a loving hand.
“It hurts,” Emily said between whimpers. She was fading fast, he could see it in her body, the ink like lines starting to spread across her skin. He could actually see tendrils moving, as if someone was injecting a deep, dark blue into every one of her veins.
“I know honey, but the pain will go soon. I promise.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky swear honey.” He kissed her then on the temple, knowing that he too was likely being consumed internally by Lazarus. With ease, he turned her over so she was facing away from him, meeting very little protest from her now. Reaching for his gun, Rodriguez brought it up, keeping it out of her sight.
“It will all be over soon.” She didn’t even have time to react, the trigger pulled as soon as he placed the muzzle of his gun into the base of her neck, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to witness the destruction he created. He couldn’t see that, the sound alone too much for him. Rodriguez didn’t open his eyes again until he was standing in the children’s bedroom door which he closed behind him. He never looked at Emily again, never got to see her sweet smile or her stern face when she knew she was being teased.
Whatever was left of him broke. There was no room for life now, not in this world. The creature came rushing at him once again, all fury and chaos, five bullets needed to bring it to the ground where it thrashed wildly. Rodriguez ended it the way he ended Emily, and in the echo of the blast, he thought he heard his wife scream again.
Still half a magazine left. Still enough to do what needed to be done. Numb now, Rodriguez made his way to where his wife was. He had one act of love left to give before he removed himself from this world. He hoped there wasn’t an afterlife, because he didn’t want to live an eternity with the knowledge of what he had to do here at this hour.
23.08.19
Preston, UK
Whittaker woke up early, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin, the taste of ash lingering in his mouth. He’d never experienced a nightmare that intense. It stayed with him, into the waking time, the bulb above his head no replacement to the brightness of the desert sun. It took him several moments to figure out that the small room he found himself in was actually his true reality. He had a faint recollection of someone talking to him in his dream, but it had been mostly drowned out by the terror.
One of the greatest threats to a soldier was the failure of their own mind. Was this the first signs of that?
Somehow he wasn’t surprised to see Nick and Jeff outside his room when he emerged to use the showers, Brodie having been relieved half way through the night. Natasha had offered to take Nick’s place, but he had declined.
Wearing a dressing gown and bare feet, Whittaker looked at the two MI13 men expectantly.
“Chris,” Nick asked, “tell me about your dreams.”
“What?” What the hell was this, thought Whittaker? It was hardly a question a relative stranger was supposed to ask you.
“It might sound strange, but that’s only because you don’t realise how important the question is. Please, tell me about your nightmare.” Neither of the men guarding Whittaker wore their gas masks, there was no need here. The only other people in the building were immune, and the regular soldiers knew to stay out. It hadn’t taken much for Nick to be given total authority of those deemed to be safe from the virus. They were his to protect, and the soldiers in the barracks had been warned that this area was off limits to them unless they were specifically called upon.
“Well okay. It was pretty horrific, the worst I’ve experience
d.”
“Go on.” Nick looked at Whittaker who stood in the doorway of his room. The soldier looked nervous to be talking about this sort of thing.
“There was a desert with a hot sun and I was walking in it.” Jeff and Nick shared a look, which told Whittaker that this was what they were expecting to hear. “My skin was all burnt, and I felt like I was being chased by something.”
“Something?” Jeff asked.
“I have an image of people on horseback, only they weren’t people. I don’t know what they were, but they sent a shiver up my spine just thinking about them. I never got to see them and yet I feel I know exactly what they looked like.” Nick nodded as he heard the words.
“Come with me soldier,” Nick ordered. Whittaker followed, the three of them moving further into the building towards the room that held Azrael. They didn’t go in, but they took Whittaker to the observation window. There was no need to bother Jessica with this just yet, for she had woken up before Whittaker and was presently taking a walk in the early morning air. She had felt compelled to seek out something beautiful, the pending sunrise hopefully enough of a distraction for her.
Azrael lay there awake, his eyes moving to the new arrivals. He was no longer restrained to the bed, his limbs shackled to allow him a degree of freedom. When Azrael saw Whittaker, his face lit up as if this was an old friend come to greet him. Nick activated the room’s intercom, desperate to see how the conversation would pan out. Azrael walked over and put his face right up against the glass.
“Do you know this man?” Nick asked Azrael. Azrael nodded.
“Another one,” he said. “Another traveller from the desert.”
“How could he know?” Whittaker demanded, fear starting to well up inside. He couldn’t see how this could have been a trick.
“I know because I was there,” Azrael said. Whittaker looked suspiciously at the sunken eyes that stared back at him. There was something about Azrael that was definitely familiar to him.
“Why is he tied up like that?” Whittaker demanded.
“Because this man is a killer,” Jeff answered. “Isn’t that right Azrael?”
“Yes I have killed, but I don’t know if I’m still the man you say I am.” It was true, Azrael felt changed. The urge to commit death and slaughter didn’t seem to be in him anymore. He didn’t know if he should be relieved about that.
“You still are,” Nick said. “You never lose that part of you. Trust me.” Azrael nodded his acceptance although he wondered if he would ever get a chance to prove his captors wrong.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Whittaker begged.
“There’s someone else I want you to meet,” Nick advised, indicating that Whittaker take a seat. “Jeff, can you go and get me Jessica from outside.” Whittaker stayed standing for a moment, staring at Azrael, the man who would soon unlock the secrets to everything.
23.08.19
Manchester, UK
Superintendent Craig Soul had barely slept the last few days. It had fallen to him to organise the police response to the zombie epidemic that had rapidly been building in the northern part of the city. The army helped, but they were limited in number and had their own shit to deal with. Soul’s biggest problem was that he didn’t have enough men to do what needed doing, especially as large numbers of them had chosen not to come into work. He understood that, his own wife begging him to stay with her. How could he though, he had responsibilities and had been placed into a position of trust.
Specifically, he didn’t have enough armed officers, a problem faced by the police forces across the country. You couldn’t politely ask a zombie to cooperate with your lawful command, so many of the officers under his watch were of little use in fighting any zombie outbreaks directly. That was one of the reasons he had lost control of the city. He knew that now, because as he stood looking out of the office on the top floor of the Albert Hall, he could see hundreds of the undead surging across Albert Square. It was clear to him that they were sweeping across the city virtually unchecked.
He had been here to liaise with city officials on the best way to contain the problem that had been bubbling under the surface for so many days. The early hour didn’t matter because sleep wasn’t something people seemed to partake in any more. So many cities had reverted to anarchy, but Manchester so far had held it off, most likely due to the initial presentation of Lazarus here which resulted in early intervention. By being the first city to see the zombie outbreak at Wythenshawe Hospital, Manchester had been better prepared than any other UK metropolis. As gunshots echoed around the city streets, Soul realised it had all been for nothing. The antiserum, the quarantines of the passengers from the flight shared by Peter Dunn. All that had done was bought them a day at most.
Soul was alone in the room when the realisation of how badly he had failed finally hit him.
Stuart(Z) ran amongst its brothers and sisters, the humans falling before them. The horde had formed in the night in Salford Quays, formed from the frightened and defenceless citizens of Manchester. Many of them sported injuries, but some were almost strangely whole, their bodies still to me smitten by the bullet or the blade. What humans they found they quickly felled, the centre of the city teeming with life ripe for the conversion. Stuart(Z) was now just one of thousands, a collective that poured through the streets, breaking into every door and window that would allow them access. If one listened very carefully, you could hear the screams of the damned as the people of Manchester begged for deliverance. All they had to look forward to was starvation at best. For most, the virus would take them.
Stuart(Z) sensed the size of the building it entered, dozens pouring in after it. It didn’t matter that the Town Hall was the heart of the city, it was just another place where meat could be found. Stuart(Z) paused briefly, buffeted by its kind as they rushed past, soaking up the cries and the anguish that this building gave out. Then it was off, finding the stairs, running up, its feet making easy work of the stone steps. On the second floor it found a woman who tried to run, but Stuart(Z) easily brought her down, smashing her head into the floor several times. Dazed, the hapless woman could do nothing to prevent the zombie biting a chunk from her shoulder. Even as the flesh detached, Stuart(Z) was off, chewing frantically so as not to waste the morsel it could not now swallow.
Two more victims and more flights of stairs saw it on the top floor of the building where it finally met capable resistance. Bursting into an open plan office space, bullets ploughed into its upper body, Stuart(Z) rocked by the onslaught. But it was not alone, zombie after zombie streaming past it, charging the valiant defenders who simply didn’t have enough bullets or guns. Nine bullets in total weren’t enough to stop Stuart(Z) and it walked past its feeding kind, fluid leaking out of the many holes that now peppered its torso. By perhaps a miracle, not a single projectile had marked its once handsome face.
It sensed a human step out of a side room into the bedlam and ran at him. When Stuart(Z) had been an aspiring lawyer, the superintendent’s uniform would have made the human self-conscious, an emotion impossible for the undead to feel. The only thing Soul’s uniform now represented was a barrier to the delicious flesh underneath. Stuart(Z) speared the man, bringing him to the floor, the cries from the terrified lips sending Stuart(Z) frantic as it ripped the skin off Soul’s face with fingers that now acted like claws.
The twenty third of August was the day Manchester city centre fell to the undead.
23.08.19
Preston, UK
Despite the horrors of life there was always balance. Standing alone on the edge of the shooting range, Jessica gazed off into the distance and watched the sun as it began to crawl its way into the sky. Even though she had seen countless sunrises, it felt like the most amazing thing she had ever seen. Enthralled by the spectacle, it took her several moments before Jessica realised she was being watched.
Sometimes you just know, as if you could actually feel the other person’s eyes burning into the back o
f your skull. A shiver went down her body, unrelated to the cold morning air and concern caused her to abandon the sunrise to seek out the source of her worries. Darkness hid him at first, but movement drew her eyes to a tree that was washed in darkness.
Fifteen metres away stood a lone, partly hidden figure, dressed in army fatigues. There was something odd about the way the man stood, a weapon ominously clutched in his hands. It wasn’t pointed at her, but still it made Jessica nervous even though she knew that the people here were for her protection. Was he guarding her or making sure she wasn’t about to abscond? She was unsure of his purpose because there was malevolence here, she could almost taste it. Something about this watcher was very wrong. Deep inside there was a part of her that knew a predator when she saw it. She had no idea how long Renfield had been watching her.
“Jessica.” It wasn’t the watcher who shouted, but a reassuring voice she recognised. Jessica had to move her body to see where the shout had come from, Jeff running over from the medical facility, the gas mask raised up on his head because he knew she was safe to be around. When she looked again at where the watcher had been, she was surprised to see that he had disappeared.
She knew she hadn’t imagined him, and it had most definitely been a him. With the surrounding darkness, Jessica had never seen the face and part of her was glad for that.
***
Renfield had been dragged from sleep by his own desires. The urge was building, and lying there in a room with three men totally vulnerable to his addiction, Renfield suddenly sensed he couldn’t stay in the room a moment longer. Dressing as quietly as he could, he had slipped from the bedroom before he had ended up doing something incredibly stupid. It would have been so easy to just slice the knife into pliant and vulnerable flesh. Renfield could almost taste the delight that such an act would have brought him, but there was no way he could have ultimately gotten away with it. He would have to talk to Colonel Smith about getting a single room. Renfield knew he wouldn’t be able to do what Smith wanted of him if he were to fall foul of his own desires.
The Lazarus Strain Chronicles (Book 2): The Rise Page 42