“Great, so, if there’s an emergency, we have to put our trust, not in the trained flight attendants who are well trained and are paid for this work, but instead, in the fat tourist in the neon Hawaiian shirt on Row 65,” Barry added to his commentary. “I’m super hopeful for my survival if we get in trouble. I can count on Fat Man 65 to save me. Really helps things.”
Lena tried to pay attention because it was always good to know the emergency protocol. She could never be sure what to expect, but Barry added very yet cynical statements to the flight attendant’s safety drill. She couldn’t help but laugh at him. Lena had always wondered why certain airlines put untrained civilians in the exit rows. It made little sense to make them worry unnecessarily.
Finally, the attendant finished the emergency preparation, and the plane’s engines started. Lena craned her neck to look out the small window. She had always enjoyed watching life from a plane window. As she watched, the aircraft picked up more speed. Barry gripped onto the armrest as if his life depended on it, and he was a little paler than before.
“I like flying,” he commented as if reading Lena’s mind. “I hate the takeoff part though. I’ll be fine when we get settled.” He continued to mutter to himself.
Sunshine still snored but much more softly now. It might have been the engines outshining his noise, but either way, Lena enjoyed the quieter atmosphere.
The plane leveled out, and the seatbelt sign beeped off.
“You may now use the TVs and other electronics,” an air hostess announced.
A jumble of noises erupted as passengers pulled out phones and laptops. Lena turned her little TV on to the BBC broadcasts as Barry flicked on CNC. Sunshine still snored, unaware of how much space he took up. At least he’s asleep, Lena told herself. He’s easier to manage asleep.
Lena watched as people fought on the streets. It looked like a street in Oxford, but she couldn’t be certain. The sound played in broken chunks through her headphones. She turned the headphones in their jack, hoping to get a more stable sound.
Crackle. Muffled screams. Crackle, static. A man talking followed by more crackling.
Suddenly, Lena hit the sweet spot and a strong, stable stream of sound flooded her ears. She couldn’t believe she was watching live TV. The scenes didn’t seem real, just like the ones in the airport. In clips being shown as the reporter spoke from his safe seat in the studio, she saw men leap on other men, chewing at their faces, necks, arms, and anything they had access to. They only pinned their victim for a moment before running off. Once the attacker left, the victim rose off the ground and continued the cycle of gore.
“The streets here in Oxford have been contained,” the reporter said into his microphone. One hand was over his ear listening to other reports from his coworkers. “Reports are coming in that other areas around the United Kingdom have been contained as well.”
He poured the words into his microphone as the streets behind him faded from view. “Yorkshire, Lancashire, Manchester, and even places as far south as Exeter and up north to Nottingham, Liverpool, and Scotland, Edinburgh, Glasgow—all these cities have been contained, thankfully.” He nodded quickly as if waiting to announce each would change the outcome.
Lena felt a faint relief hearing the news, but that still didn’t explain why there were so many unanswered questions. The more she saw, the less it all made sense.
“It appears to be a drug outbreak,” the reporter continued. “A powerful drug which has spread to many parts of the world.” He is a little more confident as he talked about the explanation for such odd riots.
Lena looked over at Barry’s screen to see similar fighting, but the streets differed from what Lena saw. The entire country was different. The man on the BBC said that the drug was spreading around different countries. Lena pulled out an earbud so she could still hear the reports in her other ear.
“Where is that?” Lena asked, but Barry couldn’t hear her. She gently nudged his arm, and he jerked back to reality, turning to Lena with a confused expression.
Barry pulled back his headphones. “What?”
“Where is that?” she repeated, nodding towards his screen.
“Not sure. Somewhere in Europe.” He paused “Not the UK, though,” he added, gesturing toward Lena’s screen.
It must have been a powerful and influential drug to have spread so far and so quickly. A day ago, she was sipping cocktails on the roof of an NYC skyscraper, and now she was watching her homeland recover from a deadly drug.
Barry placed his headphones back over his ears and directed his focus back to the screen. Lena slipped the missing headphone back in place and tried to make a little sense of it all.
“The drug is like Angel Dust,” a man who was sitting with the original reporter said. The new man wore a lab coat and had thick glasses on. His hair was messy, and he spoke with confidence. “Remember back when everyone was on PCP?” he asked the other reporter who nodded.
“We don’t know how far this drug has spread. For all we know it is worldwide. Right now, we know it’s in the UK and also in some areas of Europe. We’re just not sure how much of Europe yet. It has been contained, however, as you outlined earlier.” The scientist nodded. “Although, this is far from the end of our worries. Angel Dust was one hell of a drug.”
There it is, just a drug outbreak.
That made Lena a little more relaxed. There was little threat to Mrs. Owens herself. The Prime Minister was smart enough not to take drugs directly. That would give Lena and the others time to win the battle.
The TV host and scientist continued to talk about the Angel Dust drug, the effects it has, and what was different this time. They were convinced that this outbreak was just another run of PCP, but a stronger version. The TV host had a voice and posture that gave a confident message, and the scientist used big words to back up his cause.
Lena felt comfortable believing the reporter and scientist. They knew what they were doing, and there wasn’t much of a reason to doubt them.
Barry took his headphones off and powered down the TV. Lena removed her headphones as well. He let out a long sigh. She still thought he still smelled good, but compared to Sunshine, even a swamp would smell good.
“It’s just a bloody drug outbreak.” Barry laughed the words out. “How could I have been so foolish to think it was real zombies?”
Lena smiled. “I believed it, too.” Lena laughed at herself. “But, not exactly zombies.”
“It’s spreading like wild-fire though,” Barry commented.
“But if it’s just a drug, it’s easier to manage,” Lena said, reassuring them both. She only half believed her words. Drugs were difficult to manage, especially in such a large force. They could be anywhere or in anything. She had to be careful not only with herself but with trying to stop the spreading of the drug.
Barry pulled out his computer and flicked it on. “I feel better that it’s contained.”
“Me, too,” Lena agreed.
The air hosts made their way down the tight aisle with the drink cart. It was a much-needed sight. Lena got herself a wine. She didn’t care how early it was, and after everything that had happened that morning, she deserved a treat.
She wanted to drink two glasses of wine and sleep the rest of the way. She’d be just like Sunshine, except she didn’t snore. She’d drink and then sleep, and when she woke up, everything would be all right. No fighting in the streets, no vacant-eyed people. No snoring Sunshine in her personal space. This was certainly the last time—no matter what happened—that she was getting a middle seat in economy class.
Barry was smashing away at his keyboard, and Lena glanced at his screen to see him blasting a zombie to smithereens. She sipped at her wine. The fiery taste filled every inch of her tired soul as she watched Barry kill the monsters. She thought about how silly she had been to think the news footage on TV was a zombie outbreak or something farfetched like that. Those things belonged in horror stories and computer games.
&
nbsp; Barry took his headphones off and sat them around his neck. It looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t seem to mind them there.
“For a good few hours, I thought my zombie game had come to life,” he told Lena. “The news just seemed so real, but there was no one killing them, just the zombies getting the upper hand.”
Lena nodded along, sipping at her wine. “I thought they were monsters. Like in a story or something.”
“I wrote this game,” he told her.
“You wrote it?” she replied, confused. “What does that mean?”
Barry chuckled at her. “I made the game. I didn’t buy it or anything; I created it. I’m trying to sell it. Hopefully, someone will buy it.” His voice was distant and hopeful. He laughed nervously.
“Maybe with the recent news footage it’ll help you sell your game,” Lena added to the conversation. She finished her wine and was only half paying attention to Barry. Maybe it was the wine.
As much as she tried to focus on Barry and his zombie game, her thoughts focused more on Joel and his meeting with the Prime Minister. They usually held Sunday morning meetings because something was wrong. The last time they had a Sunday meeting, a terrorist had forty-five hostages trapped in an old tube car, and he had planted a bomb under it that would blow the entire section of the underground including the hostages.
She impatiently tapped her plastic cup on the tray table in front of her. She wanted to be back in London to help. Lena looked at Sunshine who was still snoring away peacefully. She didn’t understand how anyone could sleep for so long, especially in such a tight space. Even with taking up her space, Sunshine didn’t have a lot of room for all his limbs.
Barry happily played his game, and Lena was bored while watching him kill zombie after zombie. The only struggle he encountered was a larger zombie coming toward him. He took two blasts to kill that one. Lena thought that might be a reason his game wasn’t selling. There needed to be a challenge to overcome. A story to play along, tasks to do, things like that.
Lena wondered how she would fill the remaining six hours on the flight. The wine hadn’t been enough to put her to sleep, and she had no game to enjoy. Oh, shit, she thought. My emails.
She hadn’t checked her emails since leaving JFK. Lena scooped her bag up from under Sunshine’s feet that were invading her space. She brushed off his boot print and noted that she had to get it properly cleaned back home.
She pulled out her iPad and slid her purse away from Sunshine’s boots. She turned on the device and connected it to the internet.
There were more than a hundred new emails waiting for her, but nothing seemed too pressing. It was just notifications of different meetings, reports from previous meetings, and other random things like that. She kept scrolling until she found one that filled her again with fear. It was from Joel Pearson, its title: URGENT – OPEN FIRST.
Chapter Four
A strange noise jolted Sean Welch from his dreamless sleep. He bolted up in his bed and frantically scanned his surroundings. After spending six months on the war-torn streets of Syria, he was used to loud noises possibly being someone or something out to kill him.
He had to protect his friends first. Sean blinked a dozen times and squinted in the morning sun. He took a few moments to process the cream walls, the maple dresser his wife had begged him to buy, and the large windows that let in bright sunlight even though thick curtains hung on either side of the window. He must have forgotten to close them last night.
There was no one there to kill him, and there were no friends to protect. Just the blaring noise of his house phone. He slumped back on the bed; he was safe.
His house phone never rang. The only reason Sean had it was because the TV and internet package deal included a landline. He racked his tired brain for anyone he knew who could have his house phone number. He couldn’t even remember it himself.
Everyone usually called him on his cell phone. It was much easier for him to handle his work from that device. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he rolled over to face his cramped bedside table. The house phone perched on the corner screamed at him to answer.
He lifted the receiver and slammed it back down. Sean didn’t have time for prank calls, not this early on a Sunday morning.
What time is it anyway? He grabbed his cell off the side table and saw it was 7:45 a.m. There was a message from his wife, Claire.
<
He smiled to himself. Claire and the kids had spent time in America for a holiday, and he was excited to hear all about their adventures. He thought a moment about all the carefree things they could have done and the places they would have seen. He would’ve given anything to be with them, but his tour in Syria called on him first. His eye caught another text from Claire.
<
What is she on about? What news? What’s going on?
He hadn’t even been in the country for twenty-four hours and something was wrong?
There were countless texts from the other platoon members. He had just been with them yesterday. They had made it safely back to the United Kingdom. They were tired and battle-worn, but they were alive.
Why would they be calling me this early?
His thoughts went wild as he sat there, wondering what the hell he had to do. Sweat poured off his face, and he felt like he was back in Syria. At least in Syria, he knew the enemy and how to defeat them.
The house phone rang again, and Sean picked it up this time, annoyed. He had to deal with it so he could figure out what was happening.
“Bloody hell, stop fucking calling this number,” he spat into the phone. He was about to slam the phone down again when a familiar voice answered on the other end.
“Sergeant Welch that is no way to answer your commanding officer.” Sergeant Terry Turner was the prank caller.
Shit, Sean thought. I could be court marshaled for that. He hated himself for being so angry and snapped to attention. “Sorry, Officer Turner! I had no idea it was you,” he said formally into the phone. God, how could I have been so dumb? He felt so stupid.
“At ease, Welch.” He spoke firmly. “Listen closely. Something is very wrong.” His words cut Sean to the core. He sat up straighter and held the phone closer to his ear as Turner continued. “The EDF Energy Plant is under attack. There’s no word yet telling us if they could shut it down in time or not.” This was urgent and there was no time to waste.
“Sir, I have to get my wife and kids from the airport.”
“It’s on lockdown, like most of the U.K.,” the Sergeant replied.
“But, sir,” Sean pled.
“God damn it, England is under attack. You were so quick to get to bloody Syria, now you have to be that quick to save your own damn nation.” The Sergeant wasn’t angry, but he was urgent, and he was right. The country needed Sean; they needed them all.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“Welch, you have to wear your fighting gear you hear me?”
“Yes, Sergeant Turner.”
“This is vital. Civilians are being killed on the spot.”
Sean had heard about situations like this before, but never in places like England. The situation seemed critical, and he knew it was his duty to help. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking of his wife and kids.
“I know this doesn’t seem real, but believe me—it is.” He paused. “Also, shoot to kill. Clean shot, easy kill, quick death.”
This instruction was rare for a Special Forces operation, but Sean figured the situation was rare and special orders were needed.
“I don’t understand, sir,” he told his commanding officer.
“There has been some sort of terrorist attack, and people are getting infected.” He paused for a moment, collecti
ng his words. “If you get bitten, they’ll infect you, too.”
Sean’s blood boiled as he thought about terrorists spreading an infection. “Terrorists?”
“Yes, I’ll explain more when you get here,” Sergeant Turner said.
“I’ll be there soon,” Sean told the sergeant and clicked the phone back in place.
He scrambled out of bed and flicked on the bedroom TV. Everyone was concerned about news that Sean hadn’t even seen. He turned the channel to BBC, and he finally saw the breakouts on the streets.
It was worse than anything he had ever encountered while on tour. The streets filled with the dead, the dying, and was that… zombies? The figures dragged themselves around like dead weights, and their eyes were pitch black. It looked like a game Levi, his oldest son, would play.
Sean intently watched the scenes on TV as he pulled on his fighting gear. He tried to make sense of everything, but nothing seemed to come together. If it was just a college prank, then why did Sergeant Turner call him to the rendezvous point?
What does the EDF Energy Plant have to do with any of this? Are they really zombies? No, how could that be?
He slipped his top on then quickly tied his boots. Sean was used to getting ready quickly for action. He rushed down the stairs two at a time.
It was times like this when he wished they lived in the USA. If he had been across the pond, then they could have had weapons in the house, real weapons, guns and ammunition. Those things were illegal in the UK.
Knives, however, weren’t illegal, and he had his locked away in his shed at the end of his garden.
Sean pushed open the back door in the kitchen. The air was chilly, but the sun emitted a soft warmth. The ground was damp and soft; it gave way easily under his feet as he made his way to the shed at the end of the garden. The shed looked run down and needed a few repairs.
He heard a scraping noise. Sean immediately switched to his defense mode. His reaction was quick, and it was like he was back on the streets of Syria. He searched the horizon to see where the noise was coming from, but nothing seemed out of place.
Pandemic Z (Book 1): Pandemic Z Page 3