Infection Z (Book 2)

by Casey, Ryan

  I won’t let you die without a fight, Sis. I won’t let them get away with what they’ve done. I won’t let Sarah die the same way.

  He stared at the mass of hundreds of zombies staggering out of Warrington.

  He opened his mouth.

  And at the top of his voice, he shouted, “Hey!”

  Thirty-Four

  “I … I dunno whether I can do this anymore. I dunno whether I can do this.”

  Callum Hessenthaler stared out at the piles of undead stretched across the grounds of Riversford Industrial Estate. As the sun made its final descent, he figured his men had done a good job of cleaning up the mess. Now was the iffy case of burning the bodies, disposing of them. Usual procedure whenever there was a breach like this—which admittedly was more common than Callum would’ve liked.

  But his main problem right now was the whiney fool, Jared, who was acting like a blubbering mess ever since Ally had sliced the girl’s head off.

  Callum turned around and looked at his men. Three of them were gathered around his desk, lit up in an orange glow by the setting sun. Jared, a well-built man with a black beard that hid his face in the way that so many men chose to do nowadays, was rubbing his hands against the blood-soaked arms of his green CityFast jumpsuit. Ally and Martin were here, too—two of his more obedient foot soldiers of the twenty-three people that made up his team. Ally in particular.

  “You’ll be fine,” Callum said, grabbing a half-empty bottle of Evian from his desk and sipping it back, savouring the cold as it kissed his lips. “You’ve done well so far. Everyone gets stressed from time to time. That’s forgivable in the circumstances.”

  But Jared’s lips were quivering. His tired eyes were filling up with the little red worms of bloodshot. He looked like a man with something to say.

  They always looked like this when they had something to say.

  Callum sat at his desk and leaned back in the beautifully comfortable ergonomic chair. He sipped some more of the water. He liked to limit himself to a solitary sip per hour to stave any potential drought. But today had been a tough day. An especially tough day. So he deserved to treat himself. “Is this going to be a problem, Jared?”

  Jared opened his mouth then closed it again as if thinking twice about what he was going to say. And then he opened his mouth, glanced up at Ally and said, “The girl. She was just an innocent girl. There was no need to … what you did. There was no need.”

  Callum glanced at Ally. He wanted to see Ally’s reaction. There was something fascinating about Ally. He was like a rescued pit bull with a previous history of mauling. When Callum first came into possession of this Riversford Industrial Estate—when he first encountered the idea of farming women for sexual entertainment and the breeding of a new generation—he always imagined he’d have to train somebody to do the dirty work, to do the things that went beyond the limits and the boundaries of a normal human being. But Ally came pre-trained, packaged and ready to bite.

  That was a major bonus. It had got the Riversford group a long way in a short time.

  When he looked at Ally, he didn’t see a glimmer of remorse on his, admittedly handsome, face. Just a roll of the eyes and the flicker of a smile. “She was a troublemaker. She was the only thing her bastard brother cared about. So now she’s gone he’s as good as dead. Win-win.”

  “But she was an innocent girl,” Jared said, and he spoke louder this time. Colour seeped into his face. He looked like he was holding his breath underwater, his lungs ready to burst with a thousand repressed thoughts and feelings.

  Callum stood up. Stepped over the speck of blood on the freshly polished tiles. Walked over to Jared.

  He stood right in front of him. Stared up at him. “Lift your chin and look into my eyes.”

  “I’m sick of—of your games. I just want my wife back. I just want my wife and—”

  Callum lifted Jared’s chin so that he was staring right into his eyes. He glared into them. Saw a glimmer of fear, but mostly anger. Anger Callum knew was directed at him.

  Anger he had to control.

  Callum reached slowly into his back pocket for his knife, his hands getting shaky and sweaty. “I’d think very carefully about your next words. Remember your place here. You turned up here looking for security and a safe haven. You asked for our help—”

  “Not like this,” Jared said, shaking his head. “Not like this.”

  Callum wrapped his fingers around the knife. He could feel the urge getting stronger. It was an urge he’d never really felt before the world went to pot—aside from the occasional frustration at a parking attendant when they charged him extra for a pay and display ticket, or at a client who spent their day shouting on the phone to him like the errors of his company were solely his responsibility.

  But there was something liberating about the urge to kill in the new world. A way to cleanse one’s self of all frustrations, start afresh and clear the mind, much like a horny teenager masturbates to work off the day’s frustration.

  He could see Ally’s smile growing and he felt the hunger, felt the bloodlust.

  He moved the knife from behind his back.

  And then he stopped.

  “I think you’re right,” Callum said.

  He let go of Jared’s chin. Put the knife in his pocket and stepped back.

  Jared’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Callum with confusion. “I … what …”

  “Maybe we have been doing things wrong around here. Maybe our system does lack a little … equality. Boys, put him on the floor.”

  Ally and Martin looked equally surprised but still they complied, grabbing Jared by his arms and pushing him down to the floor.

  Callum felt himself getting hard. He snapped his belt away and pulled his trousers down to his ankles. His penis bulged out, and he felt the frenzy spreading to it, spreading to it and begging him to assert his dominance, his control, in another way. “Pull down his trousers.”

  Ally and Martin still looked confused, bewildered, but like angry dogs they tore Jared’s trousers and revealed his bare ass as Jared screamed and shouted and punched the floor.

  Callum stepped around him. He crouched down, put his hands on Jared’s plump ass cheeks while Ally let out a little excited laugh and pulled down his trousers too, and then Martin did the same like this was all some kind of filthy joke between a bunch of teenagers.

  Callum leaned down and pressed himself towards Jared’s asshole. He breathed in his ear. “You wanted equality? How’s this for equality?”

  And then Jared screamed even louder when Callum pressed himself inside him.

  He screamed even louder when Ally joined in and then Martin joined in, all of them laughing, frenzied, like cats playing with an injured mouse.

  But the loudest scream came when Callum pulled the blade out and stuffed it up Jared’s asshole.

  They were so caught in the bloodlust, so caught in the frenzy that they didn’t see the mass of zombies staggering towards the entrance gates of the Riversford Industrial Estate.

  They didn’t see Hayden leading them.

  Thirty-Five

  When Hayden heard the panicked shouts, he knew he was in business.

  He looked over his shoulder and down the road towards the front entrance of the Riversford Industrial Estates. The zombies that he’d caught up with, that he’d led down here, were wandering towards the gates. There were hundreds of them—and perhaps the gates would keep them from entering.

  But whether they did or not was irrelevant.

  What was relevant was that Hayden had his distraction.

  He ran over to a garbage container and climbed onto its icy surface. The night was drawing in, but it didn’t matter to Hayden, not anymore. He was beyond cold. He knew he’d likely die of hypothermia if he didn’t wrap up soon.

  But first, he had to get inside Riversford. He had to get inside the CityFast HQ. He had to find a key in Callum’s office, and he had to save Sarah and the other women tied up in that chamber.<
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  There was something else he needed to do, too.

  Something niggling away at him. Something he couldn’t avoid, couldn’t deny, no matter what.

  He had to kill Callum and Ally.

  He had to make them pay for what they’d done to Clarice.

  He peeked over the top of the chain-linked fence at the tall metallic CityFast structure. There were a few people out on the roof, all firing at the zombies that were gathered at the main gate. There was a couple of other guards running around the grounds outside—running over the remains of the zombies they’d butchered earlier.

  Running over Clarice’s remains …

  Hayden held his breath and grabbed the cold metal at the top of the fence. He knew there was barbed wire laced just above his hands, but that too was a risk he was willing to take, willing to accept.

  Right then, as he dragged himself over the fence and felt the blades nicking his naked arms and chest, he was willing to die if it meant getting the vengeance that Clarice deserved.

  He didn’t care what kind of person it made him, how many ethical or moral bullshit codes it breached.

  He had to be savage.

  He felt rain peppering down from the darkened skies as he crept across the stony gravel. He could hear voices nearby, as the lights from torches flickered around the ground, the speckles of bullets illuminated the dying day like fireworks, and the zombies sang and pressed and pushed up to the fences.

  He kept himself low and approached some metal scaffolding at the side of the CityFast structure as the icy rain came down heavier—actually somewhat refreshing. He looked up at the scaffolding. He could see a window five storeys up, which had to be Callum’s place. He’d made a note of how many floors he climbed when he was taken up there earlier. He had a feeling he’d need that information at some stage.

  He put his hands on the icy, wobbly metal frames of the scaffolding and he dragged himself up.

  He wasn’t best pleased about heights, but he couldn’t let any fears in, not now.

  He climbed up a few of the poles and the wind and rain got heavier. Water splashed in his eyes. The poles of scaffolding wobbled and creaked on their hinges. And as he ascended, he could constantly hear the firing of rifles at the zombies, the shouting of troops, the—

  A piece of scaffolding snapped away.

  He felt himself descending.

  Grabbed around for something, anything, and …

  His fingers wrapped around the edge of a rough slab of wood, multiple splinters piercing the tips of his fingers.

  But he couldn’t shout. He couldn’t cry out. He just had to go with it. Go with it and climb.

  He steadied his breathing, blinked the rainwater out of his eyes and climbed higher. The window was just metres away now. He could get in there. Get in there and find the keys to the chamber outside where the women were being kept. And sure, getting to that chamber while a ground battle was going on was a challenge in itself. But he had to take things one step at a time. He couldn’t think too far ahead. Think too far ahead, and he’d slip, slip down below to the icy ground …

  He was just a few inches away from the window when he saw movement in there.

  He slowed his movement. Climbed more carefully. He didn’t want to risk being seen, not now.

  And then he heard a voice. Muffled, unclear. “Swear I heard summat,” or something like that.

  The window clicked open.

  A bay window, which a man in a green hat stepped out of.

  Walked to the edge.

  Looked down.

  Hayden didn’t recognise this man as he stared him in his green eyes, long blade in his right hand. But he knew that by being here, this man was involved in the death of his sister, one way or another.

  He didn’t know the man’s past. He didn’t know if the man had been a good dad who’d been led astray by Callum, he didn’t know if this man had family chained up in that chamber and was only abiding by Callum’s sick laws to get by. He didn’t know a thing.

  But that didn’t stop him grabbing the man’s ankle.

  Yanking him from the balcony.

  Sending him screaming, tumbling down to the ground below.

  He didn’t know a thing about the man. But seconds later, he knew exactly what the man sounded like when his head split open and cracked on impact.

  Hayden kept still for a few seconds. He swore he’d heard the man speaking to someone behind the bay window, which was rattling in the wind. He didn’t want to risk being ambushed. So he kept as cool as he could. Kept on looking, listening, waiting.

  Nothing.

  He dragged himself slowly to the top of the scaffolding and peeked in through the bay window.

  He could see the large glass window at the opposite side of the room he’d stood in when Callum Hessenthaler had revealed his fate. He could see the desk that Callum had sat writing at when he’d first walked in.

  The desk that the keys had to be in. They had to be.

  He climbed into the window and was met with a refreshing sense of warmth as he walked through into the room. He could hear the water and sweat dripping onto the floor from his body. But he couldn’t stick around—he had to act fast. Had to get to the desk.

  He rushed across the room, heart pounding, and he stopped when he saw what was on the tiles in front of the desk.

  There was a man he didn’t recognise. He had dark hair and a bushy beard. His green trousers were around his ankles.

  A knife was wedged into his anus, and his throat was cut.

  “Faggot” had been sliced into his pale head.

  But it was his eyes that scared Hayden the most. The eyes that still looked so alive. And yet so terrified.

  He took a deep breath and tried not to puke as he walked around the side of Callum’s desk, walked past the man’s blood, and crouched down to look in the drawers.

  The first drawer was empty but for a photograph. Callum Hessenthaler and a young girl standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, smiles on their faces. It was like seeing one of your favourite TV actors in a new show, struggling to adapt to the difference in role.

  Hayden checked the second drawer—still no key, but a leather-bound notepad. The one Callum had been scribbling in when Hayden first walked in here.

  He reached down, the gunshots still peppering outside. He unclipped the little button that covered the front.

  When he saw what was inside, the nausea cranked up a decibel.

  There was no writing. No writing on any of the pages. No autobiographical accounts or stories of survival.

  There were just doodlings.

  Doodlings of women with their legs tied to walls behind them by their ankles, blood dribbling from their genitals.

  Pictures of piles and piles of men slicing the necks of women with identical knives while engaging in intercourse with them.

  Page after page of dead women, dead children, dead …

  It was at that moment that Hayden became suddenly aware that somebody was watching him. A feeling he couldn’t deny and yet had no logical explanation—just that sense that something in the atmosphere has changed.

  He looked up. Looked around the office. It seemed to have gone quieter outside. The bay window rattled in the wind.

  Nothing in here.

  He crouched down again and reached into the final drawer and his heart leapt.

  There was a rusty key on a beaded chain. A key just like the one Ally had used to open the door to the chamber where the women were kept.

  He reached in. Snatched the key out of the drawer. Stood up.

  “I think you should put that back, don’t you?”

  Hayden heard the voice before he saw where it was coming from.

  But when he saw him, he got that horrid feeling again, as the rain battered against the windows and screams rang out from the grounds below.

  Callum Hessenthaler was standing by the stairs in front of Hayden.

  And he was pointing a pistol at him.

 
Thirty-Six

  “Put the key back in the drawer and step towards me. Slowly.”

  Hayden’s heart pounded the second he laid eyes on Callum. His thin hair and his grey suit were completely dry, which meant he had to have been inside all along. His steady hands pointed the pistol right at Hayden’s chest as he stood behind Callum’s desk. The wind blew specks of rain and gusts of cold air in through the open bay window. The sounds of gunshots and shouting rang out from the battle with the zombies outside.

  “Don’t make this more painful for you than it has to be,” Callum said. He raised the gun even higher. “Put the key back in the drawer or I swear I’ll shoot you right here. And I don’t want to shoot you all over my desk. It’s top drawer mahogany. Nobody wants to ruin top drawer mahogany.”

  The way Callum spoke was so cold, and yet it didn’t surprise Hayden. Not after the doodling he’d seen in Callum’s “book.” “See your recording of events is going well,” Hayden said, as he crouched down to place the key back into the drawer.

  Or at least, to find something. Anything he could use.

  Callum’s stone face didn’t even twitch. “There are different kinds of artists in the world. Word artists, visual artists, musical artists. I tried my hand at writing. Wasn’t for me. Did you like the drawings?”

  Hayden tasted sick in the back of his throat as he remembered the black ink scribbling of women being torn apart by the disproportionate erect penises of knife-wielding men. “Acquired taste, I think.”

  Callum’s smile twitched at this. He kept on pointing the gun. “Step over here, Hayden. Drop the key right there. Come from behind my desk. I don’t want to have to clean this place up again.”

  Hayden kept hold of the key, mid-crouch. He knew what would happen if he tried to search one of the other drawers. Callum would shoot him there and then. He’d clocked on to Hayden’s plan. Hayden was taking far too long.

  He needed something. Anything.

  “Not content with a dozen murders for the day?”

  “What happened to your sister was regrettable,” Callum said, and there was a look on his face like he was genuinely remorseful. “It’s our role here to protect our women. But she was proving problematic. Don’t you see that? And, now here you are and conveniently, here a mass of zombies are. I’m assuming your selfishness had something to do with them?”