Plague War: Pandemic

by Alister Hodge

  PLAGUE WAR: PANDEMIC

  Alister Hodge

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright 2018 by Alister Hodge

  Chapter One

  Vinh sprinted across the winter beach and threw himself flat on the first rise of dunes. His breathing was harsh and chest tight as he looked along the foreshore for evidence of Carriers. Aside from his detachment of Marines, the only sign of life was a lone gull searching for food amongst the seaweed. A thick section of waist-high scrub blocked his view ahead of the plague-ridden town of Queenscliff. Thumps sounded to either side as the rest of his squad joined him on the grass-covered dune.

  ‘Damn that water was cold,’ muttered the soldier to his left, a bloke called Nate. ‘My balls feel like fucking ice cubes.’

  Glancing over his shoulder, Vinh saw the boat, a seven-metre Rigid Hulled Inflatable, disappearing offshore to await their retrieval on completion of the mission. The craft had dropped them into chest deep water rather than risk beaching in the rough conditions.

  ‘Yeah, Command better have the weather forecast right. If we get stranded on shore when that front hits, I’ll be seriously pissed,’ said Vinh.

  A heavy bank of grey clouds dominated the horizon above the entrance of Port Phillip Bay. The water had deteriorated in quality during their short transport from the Australian Navy Frigate, and an iron-grey swell was growing in size by the minute, fed by a southerly that whipped spray off the waves and up the beach.

  The soldier to Vinh’s right slowly rose up on a knee and peered over the top of the scrub inland. A Sapper called Mark, he’d joined their detachment the previous day on secondment from the Army and was the only man amongst them with prior experience of fighting the Infected.

  ‘Do you see any?’

  Mark just shook his head in a negative and crouched back on the dune.

  ‘Hey Vinh,’ whispered Nate. ‘I bet your Viet Cong grandpa would be proud of us. Invading an Australian beach with orders of shoot to kill, eh?’ he said with a smirk.

  Vinh didn’t get angry, Nate was just a shit-stirrer by nature. They’d both been part of the 2nd Brigade RAR before it was retrained as an amphibious battalion, and the man was like a brother.

  ‘Piss off. You already know my parents were from the south. My grandfather fought with the Australians against the communists. And today hardly counts, the only people we’ll be shooting are technically dead.’

  ‘Sorry dude, I keep on forgetting that,’ said Nate, an expression of overplayed contriteness on his face.

  ‘Oi, you two,’ said their officer from behind. ‘Show some professionalism. Unless it’s mission related, shut the fuck up.’

  Feeling suitably chastised, Vinh closed his mouth and tried to focus on the job again. His squad was tasked with completing a reconnaissance of Queenscliff prior to the deployment of a larger force. The Frigate to which he was assigned had been offshore when the virus sped across the country. Some pockets of resistance remained, but the vast majority of the population had been decimated in an orgy of violence. A rabies like disease called Lyssavirus had mutated and successfully transferred from bat to man with disastrous effects. In humans, the Lysan Plague as it had become known, rapidly overwhelmed the immune system leading to death. But, as the corpses refused to play by nature’s rules, that was where the trouble truly began. Plague victims reanimated with no human sensibilities remaining; in truth, they were still dead. With minds incapable of conscious thought, hearts that lay flaccid and lungs empty of oxygen, they’d become nothing more than vectors for disease transmission. Known as virus ‘Carriers’ or the ‘Infected’, the creatures were consumed by a mindless rage, driven to attack any non-infected creature and feed on their flesh. As the virus was transmitted via saliva in bites, the plague had spread like wildfire down the east coast and across the country. Brain destruction had proved the only method to kill the Infected permanently, as it disabled the virus’s control of the body.

  Vinh had listened to the story a thousand times during the Frigate’s return from active service in the Indian Ocean. He’d even viewed footage of various massacres inflicted by Carriers; but still it seemed impossible, like an elaborate April fool’s joke gone wrong.

  The officer climbed to a knee after one last look around and gathered his men closer to speak.

  ‘We stay on plan unless the situation changes; recon the marina, then head into town to estimate numbers in the main swarm. After that, we return here for extraction by boat. Avoid shooting where possible. There are only ten of us and the bastards are attracted to noise of any sort. I don’t want to draw a crowd of those freaks if I can help it.’

  The officer made eye contact with each of his men as he talked, and the reality of the mission appeared to be sinking in, as each settled and returned his gaze unwaveringly.

  ‘Ok, let’s get this done,’ he said, rising to his feet.

  The men spread out, each separated by two metres as they entered the scrub. The tough weave of their grey camouflage uniforms protected the men from the worst of the spiny dune grass as they pushed forward. Breath plumed in the dawn air. Spring was due to start within the week, but so far, winter clung greedily onto the land. Within minutes, the coastal scrub gave way to parkland.

  Pine trees reared high above the ground, spreading umbrella-like canopies of green needles. The sodden grass underfoot was short, its growth naturally stunted by the winter despite the lack of park maintenance.

  Movement caught Vinh’s eye to the north and he saw two shambling figures moving aimlessly with slow steps. He raised a hand and pointed out the threat. The soldier closest to the enemy trotted forward to a tree trunk, took a knee and lifted his rifle. Two suppressed rounds zipped forward, and the figures dropped to the ground, brains obliterated. The group moved on again, rifles lifted to their shoulders, ready for the next encounter.

  Vinh passed one of the corpses. Shadows cast by the morning light had prevented a clear view of their bodies until now. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck and his stomach clench. The Carrier lay face up, opaque eyes staring at the clouds above. The Infected didn’t blink, resulting in ongoing abrasions to the cornea’s surface until it lost transparency. It had been a woman of retirement age. Grey hair was tangled, a dried mess of gore and dirt overhanging the trauma of her face. Her left cheek was gnawed away, broken teeth and mandible open to the air. Vinh’s eyes dropped lower, drawn to the rest of her body. The corpse wore only a t-shirt, the right side torn open exposing a mangled breast, the top half of which had been ripped free to hang like a shelf over her nipple. Fat white thighs dimpled with cellulite emerged from the lower margin of the shirt. Interestingly, there was no sign of rot on the corpse. The virus had been active now for over six weeks and Vinh was surprised to see little sign of decomposition. He’d seen numerous dead combatants before, and within a day of being left in the open, the bodies started to swell and distort.

  A short, low whistle forced him to look up. Nate hooked a finger at him to catch up. Allowing himself to become distracted, he’d fallen behind the advancing line. Vinh quickened his stride and retook his place.

  With no other Carriers in sight, the officer increased speed. The line advanced at a jog, eating the ground as they proceeded toward the marina. The group soon arrived at a road in gridlock: cars abandoned with doors open, belongings strewn on the ground. Along the Australian coast, ports and marinas had been overwhelmed with thousands of people desperate to escape the slaughter on land. Unfortunately, such gluts of warm flesh had lured the Infected like sharks to bloody water, turning frightened crowds into orgies of violent death.

  The marina’s car park started on the far side of the road. It was crammed with haphazardly parked vehicles, abandoned
by their owners without a second thought as they sprinted for the boats. The team slowed their rate and began to walk through the maze, wary of Carriers hidden from sight.

  A startled grunt came from Vinh’s left. His gaze flicked toward the sound in time to see one of his mates jerked down and out of sight. Vinh changed direction, darting around a car to lend support. The soldier lay on his back, frantically trying to extract his foot from under the sedan. A teenage Carrier, pinned to the tarmac under a car wheel, had grabbed the soldier’s boot and wrenched him off his feet. Its lips were pulled up, exposing teeth as it snarled like a beast. The soldier kicked out, hammering his heel into the creature’s face as he scrambled for his dropped gun. A second wrench from the Carrier drew the soldier’s foot to its mouth, teeth clamping onto his leather boot ineffectually. Vinh leant over the marine, jammed the muzzle of his rifle against the Carrier’s skull and pulled the trigger. The creature fell away, slumping onto the concrete minus half its skull.

  Vinh stretched out a hand to help the soldier stand, an eighteen-year-old who had the dubious honour of being the youngest squad member.

  ‘Thanks Vinnie, I bloody owe you,’ he said, grimacing as he stooped to reclaim his weapon, a Browning Hi-Power pistol.

  Vinh shrugged it off while eyeing a halo of blood and brain about the pinned corpse. ‘There’s no training for shit like this.’

  The officer waited for Vinh to indicate they were ok before the group continued, making its way through the rest of the car park without further incident. At the end, a long narrow building blocked their view of the marina. Cautiously, they edged around the structure to find the port a gutted carcass of its former glory.

  The marina was huge, holding over 200 berths. Short piers extending from the bank every sixty metres in the shape of a giant wide-toothed comb. Fire had taken hold at some point, spreading along the wooden jetties to the boats, many of which now lay partially submerged at their moorings with only blackened shards of timber stretching above the water like scorched bones. A strip of restaurants along the boardwalk were in ruin, their smashed windows coating the ground in a million glittering shards in the morning sun. Beyond the piers lay a narrow channel providing access to the bay. Three large yachts had come to grief within this passage of water, their sunken hulls blocking all movement in or out of the marina. The wreckage would have to be cleared before the Navy could take advantage of the facilities.

  A crash of ceramic plates echoed from the Beach Cafe off to the right. Something was moving in the depths of the restaurant. Their officer indicated for them to pull back; enough had been seen to know the marina was useless to the Navy in its current condition.

  They returned to the parkland, jogging along the edge until they came to Hobson St, a narrow road leading to the main thoroughfare of Queenscliff. Avoiding the street itself, the group went down the side of a house before jumping its rear fence. The squad found themselves in the back garden of a magnificent two-storey red brick building. They crouched against the fence line for a moment, listening for movement. Rewarded with silence, the officer climbed onto the back porch to try the door. The handle protested with a light squeak as the catch released. He stood to the side and pointed a finger at Vinh and Nate to come forward.

  Vinh grasped the handle in his left hand, his right holding the Browning pistol at the ready. Nate stood at his shoulder, rifle raised. He pushed open the door and the two men entered, each scanning opposite sides of the room for danger. Nothing. Vinh exhaled and waved in the rest of his detachment.

  In a jarring change from the colonial era façade of the building, stainless steel bench tops and cabinetry of a commercial kitchen lined the walls of the room in which they stood, giving evidence of the building’s most recent use as a large-scale bed and breakfast accommodation. At the far end of the kitchen lay a staircase to the second level, and beside this, a hallway leading to the front door. The building faced the main street of Queenscliff where an air force flyover had sighted a large accumulation of Carriers two weeks previously.

  Nate remained with the officer in the kitchen to guard the front entrance, while the rest of the group kept their retreat free outside. Vinh and Mark were sent up to the second level to observe the street.

  Vinh led the way, placing each foot gently to avoid making the steps creak. The staircase was dark, the bulbs above extinguished long ago when the electricity stations went off line. By the time he reached the landing, his eyes had adjusted to the meagre light. A wide hallway with walnut timber floors traversed the entire width of the second floor. Closed doorways faced onto the hall from either side at regular intervals, while thick curtains blocked the windows at either end of the hallway, effectively muting the only sources of light.

  Vinh grasped the handle of the bedroom opposite the stairs and twisted the knob; it gave way and the door opened without a sound. Beyond a voluptuous double bed, the room had a tall rectangular window with a street view. The curtains were pulled wide, allowing light to flood the room, harsh after the hallway’s darkness. Vinh squinted against the sudden change as he moved forward. A quick inspection proved the room to be empty and he changed his focus back to the window and street outside.

  He paced up to the glass and peered down. Breath caught at the back of his throat and stomach muscles clenched. The street was packed, jammed from one side to the other with a slowly milling crowd of the dead. Without target, they shuffled aimlessly, bumping into each other randomly before moving on again. Even at distance, he could see individual traumas committed during the transfer of infection. Many carried significant disfigurement: amputated limbs, disembowelment and de-gloving injuries common amongst the throng.

  Vinh made himself swallow gluey spit and refocus on the task at hand. He needed a rough estimate of numbers. The rest of the town had appeared largely deserted until now, so it was likely that the swarm below constituted the vast majority of Carriers inhabiting Queenscliff. The narrow window obstructed much of his view in either direction. He reached to test the latch in the middle of the frame, when a hand grabbed hold of his shoulder from behind, causing Vinh to jump with surprise. He looked back and found Mark shaking his head at him.

  ‘Don’t do it. If that crowd hears the window move, they’ll surround us in seconds.’

  ‘I don’t want to, but we need to know how many of them there are – it’s the whole bloody reason we’re here. If we get the information wrong, it’s not just our lives on the line further down the track.’

  Mark ground his teeth together. ‘Fine, get it done so we can get the fuck out of here,’ he muttered.

  Vinh re-holstered his pistol, then took off his helmet and rested it on the bed. He rubbed one hand up his forehead, wiping a slick of sweat into his short black hair. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he pulled out a small digital camera, turned back to the window and eased the catch open. Gripping the base of the window frame, he slowly inched it upwards. The wood squeaked lightly in protest. Vinh glanced downwards nervously, but the sound went unnoticed. He continued until a reasonable gap existed, then eased his head through the space and looked to the left and right. He could see roughly two blocks in either direction and the view didn’t get any better. There were thousands of Carriers blocking the street. Queenscliff’s population had doubled with those trying to flee the plague via the town’s marina. He took a few quick photos of the street in either direction.

  From downstairs came a sudden high-pitched scream. Vinh flinched in surprise, hitting the top of his head against the frame. The Carriers below reacted to the noise. Those closest to the house turned in the direction of the cry. Slack jawed, expressionless faces of moments before, were now transformed into a rictus of anger. The scream issued again, and suddenly the crowd was on the move, lurching and shoving into each other as they sought to enter the property in search of the noise.

  Vinh pulled his head back into the room and looked back at his teammate. ‘We’ve got to get out of here, the whole bloody street’s coming our
way,’ he said. ‘What the hell’s going on downstairs?’

  Vinh didn’t get an answer, Mark was already running to investigate. He followed, taking the stairs two at a time as he sprinted for the back door.

  ***

  Nate leant against the doorway of the kitchen, watching Vinh creep up the stairs to the second floor. The sooner they were out of this house, the better. He hated old places, too often there was an invisible stain of emotion left behind by the different lives that had passed through. It was something that he couldn’t explain rationally to himself, let alone anyone else. And this house was filthy with it, a cold sensation that made his balls clench like he’d waded into ice water. Something bad had happened here, and whatever remained of it was furious.

  A scrabbling sound came from the cupboard beneath the sink, nails against the wood panelling.

  ‘I fucking hate rats.’

  The officer smirked at his comment. ‘I find that hard to believe. I seem to recall photos of you with some massive python about your neck.’

  ‘Snakes I can handle, but rats just make my skin crawl. They eat fuckin’ babies, Sir.’

  ‘Ah bullshit, Nate. I’d be more worried about what’s on the street,’ he said as he walked across the kitchen to the cupboard in question.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Nate.

  ‘Scaring the rodent off, so you can stop pissing your pants,’

  ‘I didn’t say I was scared, just that I’m no fan of them,’ said Nate, annoyed at the officer’s condescending tone.

  The Lieutenant leant down to the handle and gave it a tug. Nothing. A plastic child lock held the door closed. Inside the cupboard, the scrabbling re-doubled, causing the panel to tremble.

  ‘Looks like your rats have made the most of the carrion about town, this bastard must be a monster,’ he said, pulling apart the lock mechanism.

  Lock removed, the door suddenly burst open, spilling the body of a small child onto the ground, a girl of no more than three years. The child was frightfully thin, stick like wrists and ankles poking out of its clothes. It sat itself up with shaking arms. Long brown hair was messed over its face, obscuring a clear view of its features. As if noticing the officer for the first time, the head snapped up to look at him. It lifted its arms and reached out like it wanted to be picked up.