by Luke Duffy
The next day they had a chance to try and put themselves back together, to take a step back and decide what they were to do. The team was now four men short; with three dead and Nick severely wounded. They had no vehicles and had to wait until the company supplied them with new ones. And, inevitably, there would be at least one member of the team that would feel it was time to move on and leave Iraq. On that occasion, it was Marcus.
Over the years he had lost too many good friends. He believed it was only a matter of time until his luck run out, and he had a family to think of; his wife Jennifer and two young sons, Liam and David, who needed him. He needed them just as much.
He had been clever with his money and invested in property and saved. It wasn’t as if he would go back home and find himself in a factory. His options were endless, but for now he just needed to get back to his family.
When he informed his boss that he was resigning and wanted the next available flight, he had been caught off guard with the reply.
“Marcus, everybody wants a flight. I'm sorry but there’s a backlog the length of the Suez Canal and the likes of us ‘mercenaries’, as we are looked at, are at the very bottom of the priority list.”
His boss, the Operations Manager named Mickey, leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head revealing dark patches of sweat in the armpits of his shirt. “I'm sorry mate, but there’s not a lot I can do. I want out too, but HQ has said it’ll happen in due course and no one will be left behind. Iraq is gonna fold, Marcus, and everyone is expected to just sit tight for now.”
Marcus felt his anger brewing, and checked himself before answering, “Roger that, Mickey. Let me know if anything gets said will you?” And, with that, he turned and left the office.
The last thing he needed to do was lose his temper now, to get arrested by the Americans for assaulting someone, and slung into an Iraqi jail cell, where he would no doubt be forgotten about and left to rot. Besides, Mickey wasn’t a bad guy, and Marcus was sure that if he could, he would help him.
For the next three days all they could do was sit around and wait. During that time, Marcus decided to do his own checking up on the current situation. He learned that Iraq had pretty much been written off by the West. He’d even heard rumours that the troops in Iran were going to be pulled out.
Baghdad had an air of death about it, as if the population were just waiting to die. He saw reports about rioting and people attacking each other. New York, Washington DC, London and Berlin; the rest of America and Europe were having more than their fare share of unrest.
And he also learned that he wouldn’t be leaving Iraq any time soon.
4
Steve heard his phone beep in his pocket. It was a text message from his brother, Marcus.
“Steve, things are getting bad here.
Looks like everything is going tits up,
How are things at your end?
I’ll try and call you soon.”
He hadn’t heard from his brother in a while, and it was rare for him to call or text while he was away. Mostly, they stayed in touch through e-mail. If Marcus suddenly needed to speak to him then things couldn’t be good.
Steve flicked on the TV and started up his computer. He wanted to do more research and find out how bad things really were. He hadn’t paid much attention to the media for the past couple of days. It was the same stuff over and over; being told not to worry and that all would be okay. Only the scenery changed.
It was the same as he had just witnessed at the supermarket all across the country. Stocks were running out as everything was snatched up. Fuel was starting to run low at most stations and rioting had broken out all over. Special reports were shown of police in riot gear, forming lines of shields and being attacked by angry mobs, cameramen trying to continue filming with shaky hands as they watched the defensive lines being overrun and the police dragged to the floor.
London was under siege with mobs running loose in the streets. The government had declared a state of emergency in the capital, and many other major cities to the South of the country. The army was being called in to try to help with the over-burdened police.
Steve knew that this was the result of the flu. Though the media had done what it could to give accurate reports, not all the information had been passed onto them, to then pass onto the public, until it was too late.
Steve kicked himself for not keeping up on current events.
The Secretary of Health, along with the help of government scientists, had released a statement:
“The escalation of the flu virus has now reached a critical point, with the spread now becoming harder to contain. Hospitals and government health officials have informed me that the virus now seems to have mutated to a more virulent strain and can now be transmitted without coming into contact with another infected person.
“In essence, it’s in the very air we breathe. Numerous new cases are being reported every day, and we advise that you avoid the already overwhelmed hospitals and remain at home if you suspect that you are infected.
“We still believe that the majority of people are immune and that the outbreak will eventually be under control. However, I’ve been informed that a small percentage of people have a violent reaction to the virus. These people are passing on a violent strain to people who are otherwise uninfected. Even if you already had the flu and recovered, contact, through attack, with the violent strain will cause you to have the same aggressive symptoms.
“We believe that in most cases, the aggressive strain is passed on through bodily fluids, mainly from bites.
“Health officials have advised that anyone suspected of being infected must be separated from the rest of their family. Avoid contact without face and hand protection, and anyone showing signs of the violent strain should be reported to the authorities immediately.
“I assure you that all is being done to bring this problem under control and you will be kept informed of any further information.”
“Fuck me.” Steve had his hand in front of his mouth holding his chin up from hitting the floor. “Why would people with the flu bite?”
He had read similar stories on the internet about Africa and South America, but had dismissed them as rumours. Plus, he never imagined he would be seeing it in his own country.
He decided to call Claire to check on the arrangements for Sarah that weekend. His theory was that as long as she was with him, he could protect her. Claire, even though a good mother who always wanted the best for Sarah, was a balloon without a string as far as Steve was concerned. She probably didn't feel the same sense of urgency and panic that Steve felt rising in his stomach.
He and Claire arranged that he would pick her up on Thursday; the next day, instead. The sooner he could get Sarah back to his flat, the sooner he would be able to think straight and consider the situation. He had no real intentions of taking her back on Sunday. He had already decided, to himself, that school was out for the time being.
The next day, with both of them safe in his flat, he explained the situation to Sarah. Though she was only ten years old, he didn't want to brush over the state of affairs or paint it all in a prettier picture; he knew that Sarah was mature and intelligent enough to understand.
She took it well. “So does that mean I won’t be going to school on Monday, Dad?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t want you going anywhere, especially without me.”
A smile spread across Sarah’s face making her big green eyes sparkle more than usual. Steve wasn’t sure whether it was due to not having to go to school, or because she knew her father was there to protect her no matter what. He suspected it was a bit of both.
“For now, we will just have to watch movies, play board games, and eat rubbish. Sounds like a perfect weekend to me, my little buddeo.”
“Yup,” Sarah replied, “me too, Daddeo.”
That night, after Sarah had fallen asleep on the couch, Steve turned on the TV to check the news. Headlines were flitting a
cross the bottom of the screen and flashing up behind the reporter as she sat at her desk. Steve struggled to focus at first through tired eyes, and strained to read the reports as they sailed along the bottom. He caught a glimpse of a word before it disappeared off screen: ‘Cannibalism’. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen and stand erect.
He turned up the volume and listened as the reporter spoke:
“Civil unrest has escalated and continues throughout all major cities within the country, with the number of rioters rising. Police officers and soldiers that were trying to control the mass crowds have been attacked and a number have even been killed, with many more injured.
“Unconfirmed reports from the front lines say that many have been bitten and that there have even been reported cases of the attackers eating their victims.
“We take you live now, to the front line in Birmingham. Jessica Beal has more on the story.”
The screen flicked to a pretty blonde girl standing in a dark street holding a microphone as police and army vehicles moved back and forth in the background and people in riot gear formed lines of defense.
She looked scared, and as she gave her report on the situation, Steve could hear screams, gun shots and something else in the background. It was like a throbbing, humming noise that could’ve been mistaken for a generator or even swarms of insects, only it got louder and louder.
The camera panned away from Jessica and zoomed in on the riot shield line of soldiers and police. They were standing their ground like Roman infantry behind their wall of shields, as police officers who had formed a line in front of them fell back and passed through them looking battered and bruised, many missing their helmets and other equipment. Many of them continued to run past the camera in panic, rather than stop to support their fellow officers and soldiers.
Shouts and commands could be heard as the newly formed line braced themselves. The crowd crashed into their shields, causing a ripple as the police and soldiers tried to steady the line. The humming had become louder and now sounded more like individual voices. But they weren’t speaking, or shouting, or even screaming, it was more of a steady pleading, remorseful wail or moan. It was a chorus of despair and anguish, like the battle cry of some medieval ghost army.
The lines gave way, and some of the attackers ran. Others walked through the gaps, but they all fell onto the beleaguered men and women that were trying in vain to hold them at bay. Screams rang out from every corner as more and more of the mass of people poured forth, attacking everything in sight. In the dim light of the street, Steve could make out some of the attackers. Some looked like people you would expect to see in a riot, but others were wearing suits, some even police uniforms. Even young children seemed to be involved. Nearly all of them seemed to have some form of injury as well as bloody faces and torn clothing.
Jessica was screaming to her camera crew and soon the footage became jerky and distorted as the news people fled to safety. The screen went blank and returned to the news desk, focusing on a shaken reporter.
Steve sat in shock, not knowing exactly what he had just witnessed. The people attacking the police didn't seem to care about the law, or their own safety. They attacked in a wave, completely undeterred by the shields, the batons, and the riot guns.
He sat bolt upright, looked around the room and ran to his front door. He double-checked all the locks and bolts closed the windows and blinds in his kitchen then stood shaking as he leaned against the fridge.
“Shit, this is bad.” His understatement didn't go unnoticed by himself and for the rest of the night he stood watch over the flat, regularly checking the news for further updates. It was more of the same throughout the country and it was clear that the army and police had no chance of stemming the tide of violence.
The next morning Sarah woke to see her anxious father carrying tools into the kitchen. She peered round the corner and saw that every cupboard had been emptied, with tins piled high on the table top. He was now dismantling the doors on the kitchen units and stacking them against each other at the side of the door. In the corner were crates of bottled water, with buckets and other bottles filled to the top.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
Steve spun to see her standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. Placing the screwdriver on the table, he approached her and crouched to look her in the eye. “Sarah, you know how I told you that things were getting bad outside, all over the country?”
Sarah scratched her head of long wavy brown hair, still looking half asleep, “Uh, yeah?”
“Well it’s got a lot worse, darling. A lot worse than I thought and it looks like it won’t get any better soon.” Steve was doing his best to sound like he had things under control, but a glance around the kitchen told him that, once Sarah was fully awake and aware of what was going on, she would no doubt become frightened. “All you need to know is that I'm here and I won’t let anything bad happen. Okay?”
“Righto, Dad.” She turned and walked back to the living room.
It was still very early, and she fell back into a slumber on the couch. Steve wondered whether or not she had actually been fully awake and had understood anything he had said. No matter. As long as she was asleep, he could carry on with his preparations.
From what he could tell, they had enough food to last for weeks and the water he had put to one side would only be used in case the main water supply failed. He counted the doors and other pieces of wood he had collected and stacked by the door. Plenty, he thought.
“If I have to,” he said aloud, “I can board up every window and door pretty well. Let’s just hope I don’t have to because IKEA might not be open for a while.”
On the table, along with the food, he placed four boxes of candles, two maglite torches and every battery he could lay his hands on.
He then added a hammer, a baseball bat, and a scuba diving knife. He wasn’t exactly over the moon with his arsenal but it was better than nothing. He was determined that no one would hurt his little girl.
Next, he went to his bedroom and returned with a small backpack that he used when he and Sarah went on their adventures in the country. Inside, he placed a sleeping bag, a thick jacket for him and one for Sarah too, a few tins of food and bottles of water along with one of the torches and spare batteries. He added an extra jumper and socks for Sarah and then placed the backpack to one side. Later, he added the baseball bat, sliding it through the straps on the side so that it sat vertical and easy to retrieve. He fastened it, and tightened the straps to ensure it was all secure and ready for a quick grab should things become worse and they needed to leave.
He laid out clothes for them both. He decided his walking boots were best for the situation and also donned his walking trousers and a T-shirt for the time being. He left his jacket with the backpack. He laid out similar, suitable clothes for Sarah, and he would insist that she put them on once she was awake, and only allowing her to take them off when she was washing.
Out of an old hard-wearing workman’s belt he found at the back of a drawer; he added loops and fastenings from other straps and belts that he found, to act as his weapons belt. He strapped the diver’s knife to his leg, and the belt would carry the hammer and second torch.
He was as prepared as he could be, and short of having a machine gun or a tank, he figured he hadn't done too badly at all.
He turned on the TV then, looking down at the remote, “ah, more batteries!” They also went into the backpack, and he happily resigned himself to having to turn the TV channels over manually instead.
During all his preparations, he couldn’t shake the images of what was happening in the streets. All morning he had heard police sirens throughout the town, racing up and down the roads from one emergency to the next. Screams and shouts rang out from adjoining roads and streets, and it seemed to Steve that the chaos and violence had finally found his doorstep.
He sat watching more reports on riots, statements from army and police officials and more
eyewitness accounts of what was happening. The words ‘cannibalism’ and ‘devouring’ were in nearly every report.
A blackout caused the TV to go blank. A few minutes later the screen came to life again. It was midway through some kind of announcement from the newsreader. She sat trembling, looking anxious with a piece of paper in her hand that had obviously just been passed to her to read with there being no time to set it up on the teleprompter.
She looked left and right nervously. Clearly uncomfortable with what she was about to read to the entire country. She glanced past the camera and, most probably, at her producer for confirmation that she was to continue with what she was saying.
“Uh...so far, no announcements have come from the government or their health officials confirming or denying these reports, but a number of independent scientists and laboratories, including Oxford and Cambridge, have agreed that these findings are, in fact, correct.
“As yet, we have received no theories on why or how this phenomenon has occurred but certain institutions are insisting that these changes have happened within the last five days, and that it is a global, and not a localised, problem...”
She trailed off and raised her hand to her ear. Steve found himself standing in front of the television, willing the information to pour forth again. He felt completely out of the loop. Something had just been announced and because of the power cut, he had missed it.
“Fucking power cuts,” he said, automatically looking up toward the ceiling as though it was either God’s will, or the power station that was actually situated on the other side of the light fitting.
He turned his attention back to the news desk:
“I have just received word that the Prime Minister is about to make an announcement. We now go live to hear the government’s stand on this story.” The reporter had somewhat composed herself again since her obvious discomfort at the announcement she had made, whatever it was.