The World's Last Breaths: Final Winter, Animal Kingdom, and The Peeling

by Iain Rob Wright

  “This is all wrong!” It was the infected man shouting, his flapping lower lip distorting every consonant he attempted. “You can’t do this!” He shambled towards the entrance, screaming his garbled words at whoever was out there. Panic had turned his fear to anger, and he cut an imposing figure amongst the bodies at his feet—a wraith amongst the corpses. “You can’t do this!” he bellowed again at the top of his lungs.

  Clap-tssh!

  The infected man stopped walking and went statue still. No more words came out his ruined mouth. He fell in stages, first down onto his knees, head dropping to one side, then onto his hip. Finally, he rolled onto his front and went still. Seconds passed, and it became clear the man was dead. Any doubts were dispelled by the spreading petals of blood at the back of his shirt.

  “This can’t be happening,” said Devey, looking up from where he lay. “This just can’t be happening.”

  Two black squares appeared either side of the courtyard, getting larger as they came closer. The large sheets of metal blocked the entrance, extinguishing the sunlight as they slapped up against the cracked glass doors.

  They were being locked in.

  Devey tried clambering to his feet, but couldn’t remove himself from the tangle of Jessica and her mother. He reached out and screamed, begging the people outside not to do this. But they weren’t listening. The sound of power tools ripped the air, and soon even the narrow tendrils of light around the edges of the metal sheets disappeared as they locked into place.

  “They’re trapping us inside,” he said, barely believing his own words. “They’re trapping us in here to die.”

  4

  People threw themselves against the steel barricades, banging their fists and pleading. Devey sat against the wall with Jessica and her mother watching it all transpire.

  “Mummy, I’m scared.”

  “I know, honey. Mummy is too.” She turned to Devey. “Thanks for protecting us.”

  “No problem. I’m Devey.”

  “Barbara.”

  He reached over and shook her hand. His were clammy, but hers were dry and firm. When he’d found her, she’d been confused and disorientated, but now she seemed focused and alert—even despite her swollen nose. “Pleased to meet you, Barbara. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Barbara moaned at the awful joke, but Jessica found it hilarious. Her laughter was a wonderful thing to hear against the backdrop of terrified shouting. Barbara stroked her daughter’s curls until they were once again under control and then looked at Devey again. “What do we do?”

  “I have no clue. I can’t even fathom who was shooting people, surely not the police. It would be all over the news.” He remembered the earlier report, and the lies about ‘Bengali Flu’. Suddenly he felt unsure. Were the media being controlled by the Government? Was some kind of emergency decree in place? If so, then this sickness must be a lot worse than he’d feared.

  Barbara chewed her lip, then said, “Maybe it’s a madman with a rifle, like that guy in Washington a few years ago.”

  Devey frowned. “Who?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t really remember. Some guy was sniping people at a petrol station in America. Innocent people. It was horrible.”

  “That kind of thing doesn’t happen here. The only people with guns are the Police and the Army—and a few gangs who shoot mostly at each other.”

  “You said you didn’t think it was the police.”

  Devey sighed. “Maybe what I meant to say was that I hope it’s not the police.”

  Two men threw punches at one another nearby, over by the vending machines, but it was now so commonplace they ignored it. Jessica watched them as if they were acting out a play. A girl with greasy hair and an oversized Black Sabbath t-shirt shuffled casually by them to get to the machines and bought herself a bottle of water. Then she rejoined the crowd. Devey spotted someone he recognised and leapt up, startling Barbara and Jessica. “Wait here,” he told them. “I’ll be back.” He cut through the crowd, losing sight of his target briefly, but then re-locating the man over by the reception desk. Devey hurried over. “Officer?”

  The police officer didn’t hear Devey. He snatched at one of the phones on the desk and held it tightly against his ear. Eventually, he slammed the phone back on its cradle and swore loudly. “Damn it, they’ve cut the phones.”

  Devey raised his voice. “Officer!”

  “Not now!” He turned with a scowl on his face, but then saw it was Devey and frowned instead. His thick, coppery sideburns were damp with sweat. “Oh, Mr Singh. Hello.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve been quarantined.” He stated it as if it were an ordinary thing to say. “They’ve disconnected the phones. Mobiles aren’t working either.”

  “What?” Devey leant against the desk for support, his knees swaying. “They can’t do that!”

  The officer shrugged. “You’re right. But they did it anyway.”

  “Why? Why are they doing this?”

  “You know why.”

  Devey didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit that he was a part of this whole thing, but the officer was right—he did know. “This is because of Mary.”

  The officer leant back against the desk and cricked his neck. Before he spoke, he let out a long and weary breath. “Mary, yes, and the other eighty-odd people infected with this ungodly disease.”

  Devey blanched. “What? No, Dr Zantoko told me it was less than a dozen.”

  “It was less than a dozen, until it was more. Until about twenty minutes ago, my radio was working, and a colleague of mine on the Emergency switchboard told me there were cases flagging up all over the city, and several more as far south as Gloucester. They rated it a Class 9 Health Risk.”

  Devey grunted. “What the hell is that?”

  “If I told you there isn’t a Class 10, would you get the idea? Whatever your friend, Mary, had is about as bad as things get. Probably a weaponised strain of something already deadly enough.”

  Devey slumped further onto the desk and knocked a pot of pens with his elbow. The unexpected racket made him flinch. “This is terrorism?”

  The officer looked at Devey like he was an idiot. “Something this fast and this lethal? What else could it be? I’ll tell you one thing though—this didn’t come out the Middle East, they don’t have the resources. It will be China or North Korea or Russia. Some shitfuck country with a bunch of scientists locked up in a basement somewhere. We all knew it was coming.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  The officer sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t either. Someone did this though. I’m sure enough about that.”

  “Why were they shooting people outside?” Devey pictured the bloodshed at the entrance and felt dizzy. “Was it the police?”

  “No! None of the people I work with would ever shoot unarmed members of the public.”

  “Then who?”

  The officer went around the back of the reception desk and sat down. He leant forward and put his head and arms on the desk, staying there. Devey realised the man was finished with words, and that it would be best to leave him alone. So Devey headed back to Barbara and Jessica, but when he reached the spot where he’d left them, they weren’t there. “Great! The only two sane people and I’ve lost them.”

  There was a scream, louder than all the others, and it spun Devey to face the centre of the waiting area. Things swirled in slow motion, people tussling and fighting, some slipping and clambering on their hands and knees, others bulldozing their way through. A girl stood pleading for help, blood sputtering from her lips. It was the girl in the Black Sabbath t-shirt. Her jet-black hair, leather bangles, and purple nail varnish created a heavy metal look, but what pushed her towards death metal was the blood pouring out of her eyes. Her windpipe glistened through the t
issue-paper skin of her neck.

  “Get the fuck away from us!” someone shouted.

  “Stay back!”

  The girl screamed for help, clutching at her face and pulling slithers of gluey flesh with her fingernails, turning her purple nail varnish red. Somebody tossed something, and it struck her cheek. An impressive shot, but its effect was sickening. The blow sloughed away a massive clump of flesh and exposed the girl’s cheekbone. More projectiles launched, and the girl crouched down and tried to shield herself.

  “They’re going to kill her!” said Devey, but no one was listening. People were either running away or joining in throwing things—cowardice or cruelty, the only two options in play. He had to do something.

  But what?

  He spotted Barbara and Jessica standing over by the newsagent. Jessica was clutching a pile of comic books—the reason Barbara must have moved from where he’d left them—and when she saw Devey, the little girl waved a hand at him. He raced over to join them, but it was something behind them that caught his interest.

  The fire extinguisher was heavy with a huge nozzle, but once he yanked it off its hook, it wasn’t too unwieldy. He hoisted it against his hip and yanked the pin out the nozzle’s handle. It seemed easy to operate, and that was probably the point, but he still paused before heading off, asking himself if he was sure he really wanted to do what he was about to do. Then he saw another piece of debris hit the poor Black Sabbath fan in the head and told himself there was no choice.

  I won’t be a part of this shit show.

  He ran to the edge of the baying crowd and squeezed the fire extinguisher’s handle. The large nozzle bucked in his hand like a python until he took a firmer grip. That a jet of slippery foam came spurting out instead of water surprised him, but it worked out for the better as the people caught in the blast started coughing and spluttering. Devey kept his hand clamped on the handle and crept forwards, fanning the foamy spray from side-to-side, dispersing the mob as best he could. It worked like a charm, and within one minute the crowd had broken. They hissed and growled at him like vampires, but he had a crucifix to keep them at bay. He released the nozzle and the foamy spray ceased, but he remained on guard for anyone who tried any funny business. The Black Sabbath fan huddled on the floor, trembling like a mouse. “It’s okay,” he told her. “Everything will be okay.”

  A sobbing voice answered him. “No, it’s not. I’ve seen what happens.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The girl lifted her head to look at him, and it took all he had not to flinch in horror. The flesh of her ruined cheek slid down her face—a waxwork figure beside a fire—but her eyes were vibrant and alive. If there was any mercy to this virus, it would cause a fever and offer its victims the bare respite of delirium. But that was not the case. This girl was rotting alive while fully aware of the fact.

  “I was supposed to take my nanna shopping this morning,” the girl sobbed, “but when I called round she didn’t answer her door. I have a key so I went inside. She was still in bed when I found her, still breathing, but she didn’t know what was happening. She was making this sound like-like a baby crying, you know? That pitiful sound that gets you right here.” She clutched her chest. Her hands were bleeding. “She couldn’t see me because her eyes were gone. I could see inside her sockets. The ambulance took an hour. I held her the entire time. They brought us here.” She looked at the crowd, at the frightened faces gawping at her from all corners. Her short speech must have been enough to humanise her because they made no more moves to attack. She seemed to realise this because she kept on talking. “A couple hours ago I started itching down below. I went to the toilets to see what was going on and my knickers were soaked with blood. My neck and face started itching about an hour ago, and by then I could already guess what was happening to me, but I didn’t want to admit it. I have it, whatever took my nanna.”

  Devey sighed. “Your nanna is…?”

  “Dead. About twenty minutes ago. They wouldn’t let me see her, and I was about to tell them I had it too, but then all this happened.” She looked at the crowd again. “I don’t blame them.”

  “She’ll infect us all!” someone yelled.

  “She needs to go!”

  The girl turned to the crowd and yelled. “Where? Where am I supposed to go? They’ve locked us in here, so fuck off and just let me die in peace.” Someone threw a plastic coffee cup and it only just missed her. Things were about to ignite all over again. Devey didn’t know if he could hold them off a second time. He studied the various faces in the crowd and saw nothing but fear. Somehow that seemed worse than anger.

  “EVERYBODY STAY EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE AND LISTEN!” Dr Zantoko appeared, barking into the mouthpiece of a large green microphone. A sticker on the side marked it as NHS property. Once he had the crowd’s attention, he handed the microphone to a nurse and climbed up onto a bench so that everyone could see him. Even without the amplification, his voice was booming. “We need to remain calm,” he said in his educated tone. “And yes, yes, I know that is easier said than done, but I promise you, if we descend into madness there is no hope for any of us. There is a virus in this hospital as I am sure you all know by now. Our labs are studying it as we speak, and so far we are in agreement that it is transmitted through direct contact and bodily fluids. It is not—I repeat NOT airborne. Therefore, if you remain calm and follow the instruction of this hospital’s staff, you will all remain healthy. We will divide the hospital in two. The infected shall assemble in the lower wards where they will be treated with everything we have available. The uninfected will be moved to a different part of the hospital to reduce the risk of exposure. We will work together. We shall be brave.”

  “What about the people keeping us inside?” someone shouted, but it was not aggressive. The arrival of a doctor with a posh accent had turned the panicked mob into an attentive audience. “Why did they trap us in here?”

  “We are not yet informed of who is encircling this hospital, or why they felt it necessary to barricade all the exits and windows, but it changes nothing. The only thing we need focus on right now is behaving rationally and helping those in need.”

  In need? Devey studied the Black Sabbath fan’s ruin of a face and thought the phrase absurd, but he understood that Zantoko was trying to play down the infection. It seemed to work because nobody put up a fight as orderlies and nurses appeared in force and began herding people into groups.

  The situation was under control.

  For now.

  Devey grabbed Dr Zantoko as he tried to head inside an office. “Doctor! Can I do anything to help?”

  Zantoko seemed different now, like a coiled spring, but in a good way—ready to react, ready to leap. For a second, it looked like he would dismiss Devey, but then he recognised him. “Ah, Mr Singh. Are you still symptom free?”

  Devey patted himself down theatrically. “So far so good.”

  “If you have any strange sensations, you must report to staff immediately. From what I gather, itching is an early sign.”

  “I feel itchy all over, but that’s because you’ve put the thought in my head. I get how dangerous this thing is—if I get it, I’ll come clean, I promise.”

  Zantoko put his hands on his hips and nodded. “Good man.”

  “Have you learnt anything about what it is?”

  “It’s a virus. We’ve had it under a microscope and confirmed that much, at least.”

  So it really was a virus—an invisible monster clawing its way through people’s bloodstreams, rotting them from within. Devey shuddered. “But it’s not airborne?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “But you said-”

  “I know what I said,” Zantoko cut him off. “I was trying to stem a riot. Thank you for your help with that, by the way. I can’t believe, out of all these people, you were the only one acting against violence.”

  Devey watched the people form up into groups, unspeaking, unmoving. “People are scared,” he
said. “Not everyone was violent. Some ran.”

  “But only you tried to help.”

  “The girl in the Black Sabbath t-shirt. Is she okay?”

  Zantoko frowned, and Devey realised it had been a stupid question. So he asked another. “Is there anything you can do for her?”

  His question hung in the air for several moments before the doctor answered it. “The virus kills in less than 48 hours, and symptoms usually present within 2. It moves so fast it’s like coming into contact with acid. The organism attaches itself to the flesh and breaks it down rapidly with enzymes. There isn’t anything this lethal recorded in all of medical science. I fear the worst for us all if we do not contain it.”

  Devey’s mouth went dry. He’d watched a movie about Ebola once, and few things had filled him with more dread than that—but this was actually happening. “Did you… was it… the people outside… did you call them?”

  Zantoko nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t realise they would do this. Eighteen months ago, Public Health set up a weaponised disease team. All medical personnel are instructed to contact them if suspicious of a biological attack. Myself and the other consultants agreed that this situation more than qualifies. The Public Health team took charge of the body you found this morning and promised to send a team to help us.”

  “It wasn’t a body when I got there,” said Devey. “Mary was still alive. And as for their team, it appears they had no plans beyond barricading us all in here.”

  Zantoko ground his teeth for a moment, a stew of anger and confusion on his face. “You’re lucky you didn’t touch Mary,” he said. “The virus membrane has hooks. It latches onto whatever it comes into contact with. If you want to help, keep an eye out for the infection. I don’t trust people enough for them all to come forward. Seven people have fallen ill since we received the first cases, and I suspect there are more.”