The Infected
Book one in the Haven series
One
- No Need to Panic -
“Do you need me to bring you anything?” I ask, phone tucked between my jaw and shoulder as I juggle a bowl of cereal and the remote.
Jenna sniffles. “No, we’re fine. I think we’re just gonna have a Gossip Girl marathon and veg out.” I hear Dan protest in the background and smile. They’ve been together for four years now and I know that despite his objections, Jenna will get exactly what she wants because she wants it. That’s just how she is. Spoiled; though I’d never tell her that.
“Okay well, call me if you need anything.” She makes kissy noises as I hang up and I let the phone slide into my lap. I flick through a few channels, eventually settling on the news and relax back into the sofa cushions, scooping up a mouthful of corn flakes. A serious looking woman is being interviewed by the presenter, her expression harassed as she is bombarded with questions.
“Every effort is being made to contain the spread of the virus and we would like to assure the public that there is no need to panic.” Her wide eyes flit towards the camera. “This is just a simple case of influenza.”
“Dr Richards, thank you.” The presenter smiles, her overly whitened teeth blinding as the camera pans in. “And now, George Mason with the sports.” I flick off the television, uncurling myself from the sofa with a reluctant sigh. My dressing gown swishes behind me as I deposit my bowl into the mass of washing up and pad to my bedroom. My shift at the restaurant starts in forty minutes. The sooner I get my degree the better.
Adorned in my very attractive maroon uniform I pull my unruly hair into a knot, grab my coat and leave the apartment. The temperature is dropping as we slip into September, the leaves on the trees turning warm shades of burnt orange and scarlet. I snuggle into the thick scarf Jenna gave me for my birthday, picking my way carefully over the soggy fallen leaves. A knot builds in my stomach as I pass the stores, already decked with the beginnings of Christmas. Three more months and it’ll have been a whole year since mum died. I swallow hard, trying desperately to dislodge the lump in my throat.
It had always been me and mum. The sperm donor responsible for my existence had disappeared the second he found out she was pregnant. Just left without so much as a goodbye. I decided at a very young age that I didn’t need him. Was probably better off without him but when Christmas would come around I would allow myself to briefly wonder. Did he ever think of me? Did he regret that he would never know me? Then mum would remind me that he was a deadbeat and I would go back to my fatherless existence without a thought. His loss.
I push open the door to the restaurant, stripping off my coat as the full force of the central heating steals my breath, causing sweat to break out around my hairline. Its lunch hour and the place is bustling. Johnny is rushing back and forth, his forehead shining as he hands out menus, relief washing across his face when he sees me. I offer a quick wave, hurrying to the back and pushing through the staff door. Kathy greets me, waving her spatula in the air, her cheeks the colour of blushed tomatoes.
Reaching my locker, I shove my things inside, attach my name badge and straighten my uniform. Holding back a sigh I slam the metal door closed and hurry back out into the restaurant. It’s a quaint little place with a ‘family friendly’ vibe. Which basically means we smile while children throw their spaghetti on our shoes.
“Thank god you’re here.” Johnny pulls me into a desperate hug. I laugh, patting his back awkwardly. “It has been an absolute nightmare. You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you. We’ve had three people call in sick already this morning with this stupid virus so it’s all hands on deck.” He shoves a handful of menus into my hands before spinning dramatically, a flamboyance in his step only he can pull off. Shaking my head with a smirk I tuck them beneath my arm.
By three pm my back is aching, and my face feels like it has been stapled into the constant smile I try to maintain. As I wipe down yet another food smothered table, a loud crash whips my head up. The cloth slips from my hand, hitting the table with a wet thud.
Bodies litter the pavement, blood smeared across the bonnet of a car that is jutting inside the restaurant. My hand flies to my mouth as I step around the table, moving closer to the window. Johnny is knelt beside a woman, his hands covered in blood as he tries to hold her abdomen together, voice shrill as he calls desperately for help. Nausea rolls through me and I spin away, retching into my hands. The floor shifts and I stumble to a chair, dropping down and putting my head between my knees. I try to suck air into my constricting lungs. There are voices. Shouting. Crying. The sound of sirens. My hands won’t stop shaking. So much blood.
Someone is talking to me, notepad in hand, asking me questions. Blue lights strobe across the restaurant. A steaming cup of chamomile tea is forced between my shaking hands, urging me to drink, to take deep breaths. I stare into it, unable to lift my head and see the crimson stains that mar the scuff tiled floor.
A hand rests gently against my back, a kind faced policewoman leaning into view, eyes tight but a soft smile curving her pale lips.
“Miss… You can go home now but we will need you to come down to the station tomorrow to make a statement.” Her mouth moves but the words don’t process so I just nod, my gaze finally sliding to the devastation at the front of the restaurant. Johnny looks over, mouth downturned and face pale as he waves me away. “Is there someone I can call to come and get you?”
I shake my head, setting down the untouched tea and using the table beside me to push up onto unsteady legs, dizziness making me stumble. The policewoman grips my elbow, calling over her shoulder to another police officer who strides towards us. They talk briefly and then I’m being led away to collect my things, bundled into a police car. I rest my head against the window, afraid to close my eyes for fear of what I will see.
The apartment is empty when I push through the door, sitting room illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp. My bag slips from my hand and I press my back to the door, sliding down until I hit the floor, a sob tearing from my chest. I close my eyes and all I can see is her face, the shock and desperation and Johnny trying desperately to save her.
And the blood. So much blood.
….
“That sounds awful, are you okay?” Jenna asks, her voice raspy down the phone as she blows her nose. I wrinkle my nose at the volume of her mucous disposal and heave a sigh.
“I’m fine now. Better than that lady anyway. I was useless. I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. Johnny was…” My phone beeps in my ear. I pull it back and groan. “Guess who just texted me.” Jenna huffs and I can imagine her scowl, the way her nose screws up when she’s mad.
“Ignore it. You know he’s only texting because he’s drunk and wants some action.” She’s right. I know she is, but Brad… there’s just something about him that has me running back every time. I’m a gullible idiot and he knows it. “I mean it Lou. You’re better off without him…” There’s a long pause. “So, do they know what caused the accident?”
I fiddle with the stem of my wine glass. “Just some crazy guy apparently. After he crashed into those people he jumped out of the car and took off. I heard one woman saying his eyes were all bloodshot and manic. Sounded like a real psycho.”
“Well I’m just glad you’re okay.” Another sniffle. A raspy sneeze. “I better go, my head is killing me.”
“Okay well, feel better soon.” I hang up and stare at the message that is blinking on the screen. Pulling my gaze away I finish my glass of wine but my eyes shift back of their own accord. It goes black. It takes all of thirty seconds for curiosity to get the best of me. I open the message.
I miss you.
My silly heart skips a beat
and I throw the phone across the sofa. It lands screen down and I am determined for it stay that way. Jenna’s right. If I be his friend now I’ll wake up next to him tomorrow morning feeling used and, if I’m honest, thoroughly unsatisfied. Then I’ll have to go through the heartache of cutting him out all over again. No matter how much I don’t want to be alone tonight, I will be strong.
I can do this.
A bottle of wine and half a bottle of vodka later I find myself at his door, eyes unfocused and knees unsteady. It swings open and my drunken mind swoons as he stands before me in a pair of low slung jeans and nothing else. Before he can say a word, my mouth is on his, hands running up and down his chest like a woman possessed. He responds as expected, stumbling backwards as he removes my jacket, my jumper, my jeans.
What happens next is lost in a haze of drunken regret that I have no intention of remembering. I lay there, my bra twisted along with my insides as he snores loudly beside me, his breath blowing against my cheek in a way that induces a mouthful of vomit. I race for the bathroom, only just making it to the toilet as the contents of my stomach splashes against the porcelain. Once I’m retched out I wipe my mouth against the back of my hand and slump onto the floor, head resting against my knees as I suck in breath after breath. Goosebumps litter my bare skin, a shudder running through me that has nothing to do with regurgitation and everything to do with my poor judgement.
I wait until my stomach has stopped rolling then climb to my feet, shivering in the chill that weaves through the open window. My reflection stares back from the mirror above the sink, brown eyes running up and down, judging me.
“Nobody asked you” I grumble. She raises a brow.
Turning so I don’t have to look at her I stumble towards the door. A sheen of sweat coats my body and all I want to do is go home and shower.
Preferably a blistering hot one.
I re-enter the bedroom in search of my clothes. The bed is empty. I groan. Now we’re going to have to do the whole awkward conversation of why he thinks we’re not right for each other. That I shouldn’t make a big deal out of this. That we’re better off apart. It’s not you it’s me. Blah, blah, fucking blah. Moving as quietly as possible I re-dress, praying that I can sneak out before he notices and save myself the embarrassment of facing him.
Pocketing my underwear, I locate my shoes beneath the bed and thrust my feet inside, ready to make my great escape. A shadow looms across the bed and my heart sinks. So much for that idea. Pushing to my feet I turn to see him standing naked in the doorway, shoulders heaving, his breathing raspy. Despite everything, concern furrows my brow.
“Brad? Are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer. I walk around the bed towards him.
“Brad?”
His huge frame lurches forwards, his hands wrapping around my throat. We tumble backwards onto the bed as my fingers claw at his grip. I can’t breathe. Panic locks my limbs, eyes widening in shock, lungs threatening to explode in their quest for air. Tears blur my vision, but not enough to block out the pure hatred in his expression. He’s going to kill me. Adrenaline floods my system. I buck. Twist. Thrash beneath his crushing weight against my chest. His grip tightens. Lights burst in front of my eyes, the edges darkening as unconsciousness threatens to pull me under. Abandoning my assault on his hands I scrabble for something, anything to make him stop. My fingers brush cool metal. I wrap them around it firmly, driving it into his head.
He tumbles sideways as the lamp shatters and I run. My heart is hammering, blood rushing in my ears as I stumble, tripping over my feet in my haste to escape. A feral roar erupts behind me but I don’t look back, tearing open the door and bursting out into the night.
Two
- The World Be Damned -
Attention… This is an emergency transmission.
If there is anyone still out there... if you can hear this…
Haven is waiting for you.
Find us.
Good luck.
End of transmission.
……
“We don’t even know if it was real,” I argue, picking my way through the vegetation, swinging my machete. We’ve been having this same argument for over a month now, ever since we overheard that stupid broadcast and now Andrew can’t get it out of his head. In fact, this same discussion has been exhausted to the point that I know exactly what he’ll say next.
But what if it is Lou?
“But Lou, what if it is real?” Close enough. Pausing in my ascension of a rather large fallen tree I turn to face him with my machete slung over my shoulder and a no-nonsense expression.
“Drew, we’ve survived two long years by ourselves without any help. We’ve endured raiders, food shortages… not to mention that terrible case of dysentery.” We both shudder. A memory neither of us would care to revisit. “I would hate for all that to have been for nothing when we get butchered by some lunatics at the other end of the country.” I jump down, positioning myself in his path with raised brows. “I can’t say I told you so if your dead.”
“But…” his voice trails away at the low, guttural moan that has become an unwanted, but not unfamiliar, occurrence in our everyday lives. A rather animal like growl rumbles in Drew’s chest as he pulls a knife from his makeshift sheath, pointing the tip at my face. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I sigh as I follow him out into the street to greet our new friend.
Two years ago, when this madness began, I would have run away screaming like the innocent little girl I was but now… now it’s just how the world is. No television. No iPhone. No coffee (That one almost killed me off right there.) Now, the human race, whatever is left of it anyway, survives purely on its wits and ability to wield primitive weaponry.
“It’s okay, it’s injured.” He calls as I approach. “I’ll let you take this one.” Peering past him I watch as the once human being turned crazed lunatic ambles towards us, heaving its contorted leg across the concrete. Resting my hands on my hips I stifle a yawn, stretching my arms above my head until my spine cracks. “Just think about it Lou. If this place is real it might be safe. They wouldn’t call it Haven for nothing.”
Rolling my eyes, I lower my arms, watching the infected’s wearisome assault as I attempt to stifle another yawn. It groans.
“See, even that thing is tired of listening to you.” I gesture towards it with my blade. “Look, Drew, this place could be the fantastical paradise you imagine. It could contain everything we ever dreamed of…”
Drew scowls. “I sense a but…”
“But…” I smile despite myself. “It could also be a trap. I’m sorry but I’m not going.” I turn, swinging my arm, turning my face away as its head bounces along the pavement. Lifting my gaze to Drew’s disappointed face I heave a sigh. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
Flashing me an exaggerated, and totally false, grin he turns around, striding off in our initial direction, knife hacking at the low hanging branches. I’ll give him a minute. Shielding my eyes against the bright sunshine I scan the street. We haven’t seen anybody else, not counting the salivating, gnashing kind, for months. In fact, other than each other’s, that voice on the radio is the first one we’ve heard in a very long time. I throw a quick glance over my shoulder and spot Drew muttering to the foliage, brow furrowed and mouth pouting. What if he’s right? I allow myself to imagine, just for a second, that this Haven is exactly what it sounds like. A safe place for what is left of humanity.
In the beginning, I hoped that soldiers would find me. That they would storm London to recover those that hadn’t succumbed to the virus. I lay in my apartment, scared and alone, praying for a miracle that never came. Until it did. Not in the form of a soldier but in the shape of an ordinary guy. I’d watched him for two whole nights from the relative safety of my window before I dare reach out to him. He’d been searching the shops along my street for days but they had been ransacked during the riots. There was no food there.
> I figured I had two choices; I die alone or I take the risk of helping him.
Turned out I made the right choice.
“Lou.” I don’t turn around. A grin stretches my cheeks.
“Are you done sulking?” My voice shakes, revealing the laughter I’m trying hard to swallow. Something hits the back of my head and I turn, mouth agape, to see Drew grinning. “I’ll take that as a yes then.” I laugh, scooping up the rock and hurling it back. It flies way wide, reminding me why he throws the knives.
When I reach him, he slings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me towards him. “I’m sorry Lou. I promise I’ll stop going on about it. You’re probably right, it’s probably just some lunatic in need of fresh meat.” I know he doesn’t believe that though I appreciate it all the same. It would seem, for now, I have a reprieve from his constant badgering. I pat the hand that dangles over my shoulder, fixing him with a beaming smile. He returns it, any hard feelings forgotten as we tromp towards home.
I unlock the apartment door, holding it open as Drew squeezes through the small gap we allow ourselves. My skinny, malnourished frame slides through with ease, the door clicking shut behind me. Furniture falls back into place, barricading the door. My fingers work swiftly, flicking the many deadbolts, several of which were present before the apocalypse happened. I was always a cautious girl, a trait that many used to tease me about. Well, seems I got the last laugh because it wasn’t my face being eaten in the middle of the night by Mrs. Perkins and her one-eyed cat.
“So, what delicacies do we have for dinner this evening Miss Beaumont?” Drew asks from where he lounges on the couch. Shrugging off my backpack, I sweep into the kitchenette, finding my most pompous voice as I tear open the stark kitchen cupboards.
“Well Mr Turner, on the menu for tonight we have a two-year-old vintage bean-a-la-can?” I wiggle the tin, presenting it in that cheesy way they used to do on the shopping channels. He wrinkles his nose, shaking his head stiffly. I set the can back with a flourish. “Or perhaps you’re feeling a little more daring?” I twist around, wiggling my eyebrows, earning me a smirk. “Tah-dah… the mystery can.” I roll it around between my palms. “The label peeled off years ago and I’ve never been brave enough to see what was inside.”
The Infected Page 1