The Common Cold (Book 1): A Zombie Chronicle

by David K. Roberts

  The third and final hatch was down the back. As they got closer they could hear groaning, the sound of souls being tortured by memories, things they could never have back unless reincarnation was an option.

  “What the fuck is that?” Joe blurted, now shaking visibly.

  “Just the infected, I imagine,” Daniel replied, suddenly aware that Joe was looking even worse than a little while ago. Joe’s face was becoming sunken, his eyes looking larger than before as the skin drew back. The eyes themselves were looking lack-lustre, dull and emotionless, in spite of his obvious terror at being segregated with the others of his upcoming type. Daniel nudged Rob, tilting his head in Joe’s direction. Rob nodded slightly in reply; he’d noticed too.

  Joe saw the look on their faces and his jaw went slack with fear. “No way am I going to be put with them. They’re infected!” he screamed. Not giving them a chance to react, he ran aft and found a set of stairs leading down. Throwing himself down them the fugitive disappeared, his cries fading as he went.

  “I think we’d better get him, Rob,” Daniel said, but Rob was ahead of the curve, and was already racing after the fleeing diplomat. Together they ran to the top of the stairwell and abruptly halted their headlong progress, expecting an attack from the newly deranged man at any moment. Carefully continuing their progress downwards, expecting at any moment to be attacked, they were finally confronted by a single closed door. Joe could only be on the other side of it. Gently Rob tried the handle. He could feel it was being held on the other side.

  “Don’t try to come in. I’m not going up with those,” Joe paused, searching for a word and coming up empty, “things!” was all he could muster.

  “Okay Joe, we won’t let it happen. Just calm down, and we can talk a while.”

  “It’s no fucking use, you know what’s happening as well as I goddam do. I’m not leaving this place.”

  “What do you want to do?” Danny asked, whispering to Rob, “ this is a bit of an impasse.”

  “Leave him in there. He can’t harm anyone if we lock him in. What can he do on his own when he turns, play diplomat, handing out Ferrero Rocher chocolates?” he replied, alluding to their propensity to perform life time tasks.

  “I’m not in a hurry to try and restrain him. Remember Sue?”

  “Yep. No more risks.” Rob smiled without humour as he twisted the latch, securing the poor man in the hold.

  “What are you doing?” came Joe’s suspicious question. He’d heard the latch click shut.

  “Don’t worry, buddy,” Rob answered, “we’re going to leave you down here. We’ll stop by regularly, to make sure you’re okay, and see if there’s anything you need. But we won’t try to come in, unless you ask.”

  “Thank you,” came the quiet, now subdued reply. It was hard to tell, but both swore they could hear gentle sobbing from the other side of the door.

  “Shit. Let’s get out of here,” Rob said, mounting the stairs once more. They holstered their guns.

  As they passed forward once more, the moaning receded behind them. Neither had any desire to go and see the Infected. The smell was already flowing downwards to the lower deck, in spite of the advanced air circulation possible on the big aircraft. They were grateful to be back at their seats. Becky was sitting with Janet, clearly the barrier between staff and passenger had gone. There was little regular work for them to do. The cabin crew were taking it in turns to watch the sick people down the back. They had also managed to convince all of the healthy relatives that it was in their interest not to remain back there. The presence of warm flesh was clearly creating excitement in the warped, deranged minds of their loved ones, and beginning to cause those strapped to their chairs to react wildly, intent on getting a self-service meal. By closing the partition curtains and remaining out of sight, the Infected calmed down, especially after Janet had suggested to Becky that her staff spray themselves liberally with perfume or aftershave.

  Rob went back to his seat after checking on the children, who were watching a film on their personal systems, and tried to get some shut-eye.

  Daniel sat down in a chair opposite Janet. He could overhear the conversation between the two women; the dog was now relaxed and replete, and was snoozing on the floor in the walkway.

  “I’m worried. My family is in Wichita, Kansas,” Becky was saying. “I wish I knew more about what was happening; the last I heard was, it was spreading inwards from the east coast. Perhaps being in a rural area they will be safe.”

  “They probably are safe, Becky. This thing seemed to infect early this morning, and then it, I dunno, kind of disappeared. The way it appears to spread is by bite, I think, so perhaps in less populated areas it won’t spread so far or fast.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Becky sighed in resignation. “God, was it just this morning it all started? It feels like it has been forever. I’m so tired of it. I guess there’s nothing we can do up here, anyway. On another subject, I wonder where we’ll be landing? I don’t imagine Washington is still our destination, not if this thing is spreading through populated areas quickly.”

  “Excuse me for butting in, ladies,” Daniel interrupted. “I’m going down to the cockpit to report back to the captain. I’ll see if he’s been able to find anything else out, and let you know.”

  “Would you?” Becky said, the thought offering a small amount of relief. “While you’re there, would you ask them if they’d like something to eat or drink?”

  “Sure I will. I’ll get him to call back to the galley.”

  Becky smiled appreciatively at him as he walked away. Arriving at the cockpit, he input the passcode on the keypad and entered.

  “Hi there,” the captain said, “did you get those access points closed off alright?”

  “Yes, it was a cinch.” He replied, smiling.

  “So what was all the shooting?”

  Chapter 20

  Zombie USAF

  “Ah, the shooting,” Daniel started. “There were a couple of those zombie things in the hold, and they attacked us. They won’t be bothering us anymore.”

  “I hope you’re being careful with those bullets. If you penetrate the fuselage, it won’t go well for us.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ve taken that into account. The rounds won’t exit a target, we just have to be careful to hit it in the first place. I’d say Rob and I are pretty spot on lately. We’ve had a fair amount of practice today.”

  The captain frowned, understanding the implications of the comment.

  “On the bright side,” Daniel said, smiling, “we found and rescued a dog.”

  “We have a dog on board?” Morgan asked, incredulous. He hadn’t seen any livestock on the manifest.

  “Yes, a greyhound. He’s going down a storm with the kids.” Daniel smiled, remembering the children’s joy at seeing the poor creature.

  “So, what haven’t you told me?” the captain asked, turning in his chair.

  “Well, there is some bad news. Joe Byron is infected, and he’s secured himself in the cargo hold.”

  “He’s the diplomat, right?” Daniel nodded, affirming Morgan’s question. “That’s a shame. How’d that happen? He wasn’t infected when he boarded, not that I saw.”

  “I think he was bitten, or a scratch got infected before we picked him up outside the airport. We couldn’t tell at the time, there was so much blood on him already. From what we’ve seen so far, the rate at which people turn seems to depend upon how they get infected. The original infection took hours, a bite or physical infection is more variable, from almost immediate up to a few hours from what I’ve seen so far. Anyway, Joe refused to be secured with the other infected people. I think he was frightened of ending up the same as the rest. Not that he won’t, maybe he just wanted to be alone. I can’t say that I blame him.”

  The captain sat in silence, thinking it would be a horrible way to go, or not go, as it transpired. “We had a call earlier, from NORAD. Probably via some AWAC aircraft tracking us. Apparentl
y they don’t want us to approach the coast.”

  “And where are we supposed to go?” Daniel asked, apprehensively.

  “Back where we came from. I told him we were from the USA in the first instance, but they weren’t impressed.”

  “What’s the upshot?”

  “I tried to raise the company via our satellite phone. Trying to get advice, or at least some help. I tried to talk to some frightened woman who answered, but we got cut off. I’ve got no idea who she was, or what she was saying, just sounded garbled.”

  “Maybe she was infected. They do try to carry on their jobs until they detect a normal person. That’s when the shit starts. Where was she? What town?” Daniel asked, worried it was spreading faster than they could travel. Were they just flying from one hell to another?

  “Well, our HQ is at Chicago International Airport. I was hoping to put down there if Washington was unavailable. Looks like that’s out too.”

  “What about Denver?”

  “That would be fine by me. My family isn’t too far from there.”

  “Really? Same with Rob, his wife is in Castle Rock.”

  “That’s the opposite direction to mine. Boulder.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Of course, I mean Boulder, the town north west of Denver.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard of it. Sorry, I’m being thick.”

  “Not really, why should you know, you’re not from around there. Anyway, that’s not the real problem at the moment.”

  “We can’t approach the coast.” Daniel prompted.

  “Exactly. If we get to within two hundred miles of the coast, they’re going to shoot us down.” BB interjected, smiling wolfishly.

  “Stop winding him up, BB,” Captain Morgan admonished.

  “Is it true, though?” Daniel asked, determined to understand the risks of what they were getting into.

  “Well,” the captain thought, “probably not. They’ll most likely direct us to a military base, where we’ll be forced to land.”

  “So how far out are we?” Daniel said, asking the sixty four million dollar question.

  The captain glanced at a screen. “Exactly one hundred and eighty three point four miles.”

  As if on cue, two fighters roared past either side of the plane from a head-on direction. No-one even saw them coming. At a closing speed of well over a thousand miles per hour, it was unlikely anyone would be able to see an approach from the front, even if they were looking for it. The huge plane vibrated with the sound of the fighters’ powerful engines assaulting the fuselage. The collision avoidance system belatedly announced their proximity to the A380. All three people on the flight deck ducked, instinctively.

  “Jesus!” BB exclaimed, “bastards.”

  The captain, breathing deliberately slowly, calmly picked up the intercom mike.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Cabin crew, secure all loose items, and take your seats.” BB flicked the seatbelt sign switch on.

  A moment later, the two aircraft, twin-engined F-18’s according to BB, pulled up either side of the cockpit; they were so close it looked almost possible to reach out and touch them. Stripes on the side of the fighters lit up in random patterns, clearly designed to get the attention of the pilots on the Airbus. The pilot on the captain’s side pulled off his oxygen mask, and began pointing at his mouth, signalling they wanted to talk. A voice could be heard on the Guard frequency. It was audible through the cockpit speakers.

  “This is Captain Lewis of the United States Air Force. I’m addressing the Airbus 380 to my starboard. Are you receiving this transmission?”

  “This is Captain Tom Morgan, Americas United, flight AU342, inbound from London, England. I can hear you, readability five.”

  “Good evening, Captain Morgan. I am here to remind you that you have been instructed to turn around onto a reciprocal heading. If you continue on your current course towards the United States, you will be fired upon. There will be no further warnings.”

  “Captain Lewis, we are on a lawful flight on an American aircraft, carrying US diplomats, destination Washington. We also have a number of women and children aboard, all returning home to the USA. Why would you fire upon us?”

  “You are not flying on an authorised flight plan, you do not have permission to be here. There has been a state of martial law in the USA for the last four hours.”

  “We were unaware of this. We were given the appropriate authority to depart from England,” the captain hoped his classes in official bullshit were worth the money. “This authorisation came from the FAA in the USA. Your paperwork is at fault.”

  “Wait one.” The air went silent for a moment. The voice came back on air. “It has been confirmed to me; you do not have authorisation to land. You must return on a reciprocal course or you will be fired upon.”

  “We don’t have enough fuel for that action.” Captain Morgan’s heart was beginning to pound quickly now, he could feel the situation was turning to shit, and there was the square root of bugger all he could do about it.

  “That is not our problem. You have fifteen seconds to comply. Out.” The air went dead and atmospheric static replaced the voice.

  “I know that name!” BB interrupted the tense moment. He pressed the PTT button. “Captain Lewis, do you have a wife, call-sign ‘Bunny’ by any chance?”

  “Who is this? Identify yourself.” Lewis sounded confused.

  “This is First Officer Brad Bukowski, call sign ‘BB’ a few years ago, when I flew F16s with Bunny, sorry I mean Jessica. She still hauling one around the sky?”

  “Well I’ll be damned, I remember you. Short-ass, couldn’t take the heat in fighters. Seems like you went into flying double-decker buses as an alternative.”

  “The in-flight entertainment is better over here,” BB continued the banter, a big grin on his face.

  “Well, BB. You might have bought yourself some time. Alpha two,” Lewis called up his wingman. “One of the pilots on this bloated piece of Euro crap actually shot up some of the sky over Iraq with Bunny and the ‘Fightin' Fuujins’. I think we oughta cut them a little slack while I see if we can work something out.” There was a pause, then he transmitted once more. “BB, wait one.”

  Morgan looked out of his port side window and could see Lewis speaking urgently, clearly on another frequency, looking out his starboard side. Adding a little throttle, Lewis edged his aircraft forward to take a look at his wingman’s plane. It was clear he had lost contact with the pilot.

  “Yo, captain, something’s going down on my side.” BB was watching the pilot of Alpha two on the starboard side. Danny’s heart raced imagining an air-to-air missile screaming in at them. He leaned forward to see the problem. Even in the fading light of day, the military pilot could be seen jerking around in his cockpit, his movements looking distinctly like a fit. Frantically scrabbling at his face mask, he finally managed to tear it away from his face; his fingers appeared to have gone rigid. He was staring at the passenger jet, panting a little, his eyes still covered by his goggles, so his intent was unclear. Suddenly, blood erupted from his mouth, splattering the Perspex cockpit hood with red, viscous liquid, punctuated by darker blobs.

  “Fuck. Will you look at that.” BB’s eloquence more than covered the emotions of both the captain and Daniel, as they watched particulate matter slide down the inside of the fighter’s canopy.

  The distressed pilot faced forward once more, his head bobbing unnaturally back and forth. He looked like he was coughing; they could see more red appear across the cockpit as the pilot went into spasms. Off to port, Lewis was trying to speak to his wingman, his mouth moving silently.

  Alpha two suddenly relaxed, his back sagging as his head fell forward. Next moment he sat up and began to work switches in his cockpit.

  “Captain Morgan, please maintain your current course. I have a problem,” Captain Lewis transmitted, then switched back to his plane to plane frequency.
Not completing the action properly, he left the two channels open, and so the A380 cockpit heard the conversation from the other side as well as the Guard frequency.

  “AWAC101, this is Alpha one, I have a problem with Alpha two. He appears to be unwell, coughing up blood.”

  “Alpha one, AWAC101 copies, do what you have to, over.”

  “AWAC101, say again your last, over.”

  “Alpha one, do what you have to, I say again, do what you have to. Over.”

  “Roger, understood. Out.”

  Slowly Lewis edged his plane over towards Alpha two, trying to stay below the A380. His engine exhaust would damage the big plane’s windows, causing them to go opaque if he had to go into afterburner.

  “Looks like he’s gonna try and bump him away. Shit,” BB guessed.

  “Going off autopilot, BB. I have control,” Captain Morgan commanded.

  “You have control, boss.”

  Flicking the switch, Morgan held the yoke and focused solely on the action outside the cockpit. Lewis was very close to Alpha two, and still he wouldn’t move away. Morgan applied a little left rudder, slowly edging the A380 slowly away from the two fighters. If it wasn’t likely to be interpreted as a hostile action, he would have nose-dived clear of this bit of airspace. Pleased with his sneaky manoeuvre, they were now about half a football pitch away from the smaller planes.

  “Alpha two, can you hear me? Billy, c’mon man, it’s Bud. Listen to me. Let’s go back to base.”

  All they heard in reply was a gurgling, somewhat strangled voice uttering unrecognisable sounds. Next moment, the underside of Alpha two’s starboard wing lit up as a sidewinder launched from its rail. Billy didn’t move in his cockpit, but his head followed the path of the projectile as it raced upwards into the darkening sky.

  “Shit,” was all Lewis had time to say before he lit up the afterburners and roared away from the lumbering airliner. He flew straight at the missile as it arced above them more than twenty thousand feet over their heads. It was on a collision course with the A380, its four Rolls Royce Trent 900 engines glowing with infra-red, beckoning the missile to come on down. Lewis appeared to be playing chicken with the missile, and at the last moment punched out chaff and flares as he pulled impossibly hard to starboard and out of the approaching missile’s path. The missile liked the flares and blew up, its orange plume spreading outwards in a ball. All three in the airliner’s cockpit could see small puncture wounds appearing in the F-18, peppering its rear control surfaces.