Its face was pale, and the sunken black eyes and its bloodstained mandible, made it look like a Halloween costume—a very realistic Halloween costume. It took one look at her, and began moving towards her, quicker than she had imagined. Her heart pumped furiously as she frantically searched for her front door key and slotted it in, and took a look to her right again. He was gaining on her and was now on her drive, and although she had only looked for a brief second, his face looked ghastly, as if he was already dead. She let out a fearful shriek, gave the key a twist with her wrist and pushed the front door open, slammed it shut, locked it, and called out her boyfriend's name.
As soon as she shouted out Gary's name, she immediately released a furious jet-like release of vomit that landed on the hallway carpet with a heavy splat. The unusual feeling in her stomach was there for a few seconds before the release, which almost took her by surprise. She spat out the remaining chunks that stubbornly refused to budge out from the gaps of her teeth. Her right angle position returned back to vertical as she stood up straight, and could hear the moans coming from behind her as the awful face pressed itself against the frosted glass of the front door, smearing it with blood.
She sat down and picked up her landline phone and called the police. She waited for a full minute but there was no answer; she slammed the phone down to try and recollect her weird thoughts.
Did that really happen?
She wondered that if she managed to get through to the police and told them her story, they would probably just laugh on the other end of the line.
She walked into her living room and peered from the blinds out of her window. The corpse of Sharon Henderson was definitely there and remained on the pavement, which proved that Karen wasn't becoming demented. She went back to her front door to see that Sharon's attacker had gone, as if his attention had been seduced to go somewhere else. She went back into the living room, sat down and placed her juddering hands on her clammy forehead and tried to make sense of the episode that had just occurred.
It was proving difficult.
Chapter Six
Jack Slade took Kerry's advice to sit down and watch TV.
He flicked through the channels, but most of them were off. As he came across the FOX channel, he brought the volume up by another three notches and allowed the news to slowly, and grudgingly, sink in.
He blew out his lips to try and somehow release some of the tension out of his body. There were reports mainly coming from the USA, although there were three correspondents, one based in London, Dublin and the other based in Calais.
Jack watched as the American male reporter based in London—who was originally there to report on a serial killer who had been caught stalking women for the last ten years—began his report. He could only tell the viewer mainly hearsay, and wasn't really revealing information that would benefit the public. The Dublin-based reporter could only offer the same information; it was clear they had no idea what was happening and the Calais-based reporter told the viewers about the closure of the Channel Tunnel, and then went into the history of how it was made, stating indirectly that she also had no idea what was going on, and was trying to stretch out her so-called report.
One recorded video was played every five minutes. It was a video of a London politician being attacked by half a dozen people, and being eaten alive. The VT stopped there, as obviously the cameramen had either been attacked, or had the sense to make a run for it.
Jack watched it for twenty minutes before turning away from the TV; the reporters and newsreaders were constantly repeating themselves, experts were brought on to be interviewed and pretended to have the answers on something they knew nothing about.
Why don't the arrogant bastards just admit that they don't know?
He headed for the mini bar and pulled out a miniature bottle of Jim Beam. He swallowed it in one. This wasn't an attempt to get drunk once more; Jack's nerves were shot to pieces and the surrealism of what was occurring before his eyes had to be dealt with in whatever way he deemed fit. He headed towards the closed blinds, and stood opposite them with his hand on the cord ready to twist them open. His tried his best to control his breathing, and was dreading what was going to greet his eyes as he opened the blinds.
Without hesitating any longer and wanting to quench the intense build-up, he twisted the blinds open and pulled the cord to slowly open them fully. As they parted, he took a careful look out of his hotel window, expecting scenes of carnage.
The hotel was situated within Central Station, and as he looked out on Union Street, where opposite there was the usual shops like, Poundland and Burger King, he noticed there wasn't a soul in sight, which wasn't totally unusual as it was Sunday morning. Even on a Sunday morning, however, Jack expected Glasgow to have one or two souls moping about. Maybe a drunk here and there, a police presence, or the odd Eastern European beggar that the city seemed plagued with these days, but there was nothing.
He looked back at his room and wondered if everyone had left the hotel. But where to? Somewhere remote where they could be considered safe? Or back home with their families? He looked back at his phone and read the text messages from Kerry once more. He thought about a chemical attack and maybe the gas had caused people to become crazy, but his brain suddenly reminded him from what he had seen on the TV that the theory had been quashed by the media, as nothing had been picked up.
It appeared that whatever scientist was being interviewed, the logical answer was that it was some kind of virus. Other reports began to filter through, but they were mainly theories. One claimed it could be a gas released and was a secretive infectious terrorist attack that was made in a Taliban laboratory. Another strongly claimed it was definitely a UK based virus originally, as there was only pockets of activity in other countries, whereas the UK was almost on its knees, and he fully believed that the virus was related to the attacks at a Newcastle Biochemical Research Centre at the beginning of June.
The religious leaders, however, predictably claimed that it was the apocalypse created by God. Jack knew that even with all of knowledge and scientific advancements today, humans still did not know everything.
The TV suggested that whatever was happening was only happening in some sections of Europe, yet the Far East were in mass panic, including reports that planes from Europe heading for the likes of China and Russia, were told to turn back or risk being shot down. Due to fuel shortages, there were reports that some planes were landing in fields. But the information was very limited as the virus, although spreading rapidly, was still in its infancy.
"Idiots!" Jack snarled at the television. "You don't even know what the fuck's going on. Do you? Just admit it!"
For a full minute, he stood on his feet, his knees literally knocking with fright, and he gazed at the hotel's carpet, drifting away into a self-hypnosis state.
What was he going to do? What was the best thing to do? What about Kerry? More importantly, what about his son, Thomas? His son lived in Rugeley. Four hundred miles away!
He grabbed his car keys off the side-table, and sat back down onto the bed.
What should he do? Stay in the hotel room and hope for the best? Or chance his luck, head towards the car park and drive to his house, and lock himself in for the time being?
He decided on the latter option. He picked up the remote off the bed and put the TV onto standby, and before he could move off his bed, there was a gentle knock on his door.
Chapter Seven
Jamie Thomson and Janine Perry were transfixed with panic, and nodded to one another that releasing the prisoners was the correct thing to do. The inmates' voices in their hundreds were releasing yells of panic and steel doors were being slammed, as they demanded to be let out. Jamie had tried to phone two of his officers from the other house block, but they were not answering the phone. Maybe they have gone, he thought.
He phoned the Governor who also never answered his phone. He did, however, get in contact with a female colleague at her home who said, i
n no uncertain terms, that the prison was the least of her worries now and that they should leave the place as soon as possible, because if the people in the control room decided to leave, then the electronic doors that led to the exit to the staff car park would be sealed and it'd be impossible to get through.
Jamie Thomson rang the control department again, and the two members of staff up in the control room were still there and undecided whether to leave or not. Jamie assumed that, like himself, these colleagues didn't have kids, otherwise they would have left by now. He was informed by control, that his work colleagues had already left from house block one, meaning that nearly four hundred prisoners were locked up in the opposite building in their cells, and left to their own devices. Control asked Jamie what his intentions were.
He looked over to Janine and answered control's question. "I'm gonna open up each door on all four wings to the exercise yard; the prisoners can go through that door and jump the fence. Is there anything we can do about the prisoners in house block one?"
"Negative," control answered. "As you know, we can only control the doors outside the house blocks. All doors that are controlled within the house block are controlled by people who work in the bubble where you're sitting, and even then you need the keys to open the cells. There's no one in the bubble in house block one anymore."
"Yeah, I know all that. But how come you let those officers out of the grounds, couldn't you have gently persuaded them to open up the prisoners?"
"They didn't want to open up the prisoners for fear of being attacked. The two officers have now left through the exercise yard on A wing. They climbed the fence; they never went through the normal procedure of leaving the premises. Maybe they thought we wouldn't allow them out, or they assumed we, up in control, had already left. We can still see them now on the cameras, climbing another fence, they're nearly out of the grounds but the barbed wire is cutting them to shreds."
"Barbed wire?" Jamie shook his head. "Fuck. Forgot about that; better tell the prisoners to throw their bed sheets over, before they climb over."
Control said, "They're now in the car park, leaving with their cars. Both officers have families. Right, Delta Seven, I mean, Jamie, we're going. Good luck."
It wasn't that he didn't believe control, but he hung up and called the house block once more just to be sure. He looked over to Janine and shook his head.
She asked, "What's wrong?"
"The officers have left house block one."
"They've just let the prisoners in there to starve, in their cells?" Janine placed her hand dramatically on her head, the sweaty palms sticking to her blonde hair.
Jamie nodded. He held up the phone to acknowledge that there was no one answering it. "Yep, looks like they've definitely gone."
"So what are we going to do?"
"I've got an emergency key to open or close the sliders, each door that leads to the wing. Here." He threw the key at Janine. "I want you to close all slider doors apart from E wing. I'm gonna open every door that leads to the exercise yard on the four wings, but I'm gonna do it one by one. Don't want these fuckers attacking me, I'm sure they won't, though."
"What makes you think they won't?"
"Three things: One, I'm doing them a fucking favour. Two, I'm opening up the cells slowly, so the wing won't get congested. And three, by the time I've opened up the next cell, the prisoners from the previous one will be practically over the fence. If we open all four sliders, they may take their frustration out on the bubble. But like I said, we're doing them a favour so I can't really see that happening."
Said Janine, "I'll announce it over the speaker."
Janine spoke loudly in order for the rowdy, panic-stricken inmates to hear her. She forced a thin smile at her male colleague. She wasn't fully convinced that this plan wasn't going to backfire, but they couldn't leave them in there to starve like the prisoners in house block one. She put her lips to the microphone. "Attention inmates. Attention inmates." She paused to allow the prisoners to be quiet. "You've heard what's happening out there. Don't worry. We are going to let you out. We will start with E wing, followed by F, G and finally H. You will leave via your exercise yard, and be sure to take sheets and duvets with you to protect you from the barbed wire. Forget that we are officers. Go home to your families; we are all in this together now."
She looked at Jamie and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, how was that?
Jamie nodded in approval, but couldn't help a sarcastic remark. "Very moving." Jamie continued, "Right, I better start. Just keep on repeating what you said before, while I unlock them."
Jamie left the bubble, and threw his radio to the floor, which was something he didn't need as it was mainly used to contact control. He saw the slider doors to wing F, G and H close, while E remained open.
He walked into the loud and boisterous wing that was drenched in voices of male panic that was building momentum once again, and opened up one door that stood next to the small wing's canteen. He walked into a short corridor to open the final door that let in welcomed air; it was the door that led to the exercise yard. It was a beautiful feeling when the wind brushed his face, and then suddenly doubts surrounded Jamie's mind.
Surely this is some kind of joke? Is letting the prisoners out really the correct decision?
He stopped arguing with himself and went back inside E wing and opened up the door to the exercise yard. His heavy boots clonked up the metal staircase to the first floor. He started on the top floor, and sure enough, the first two prisoners that were unlocked never even gave Jamie any eye contact as they both ran with rolled up sheets under their arms and ran straight for the door that was opened on the side of the wing, the door that led to the exercise yard.
All four wings had taken nearly thirty minutes to complete, and not one prisoner verbally or physically attacked Jamie. He was a respected officer, and they were frightened individuals who wanted to be with their families or wanted out of the prison no matter what dangers lurked outside. Not all prisoners left immediately; some lagged behind and others wanted time to think about what they were about to do. Was it the right thing to leave?
Once all cells had been opened, he walked past the bubble and into the staff room for a pee; then came back out again minutes later.
Jamie returned back to the house block's control unit, nicknamed the bubble. He knocked on the door and Janine pressed a button to electronically allow the thirty-nine-year-old back in. She turned to him and wondered what he was going to do next. Was this the moment they went their separate ways? She was too scared to go out there on her own. She bit the bullet and asked him, "Where are you going to go?"
"If I can get to the gatehouse, I can break into the reception area, open the main doors where the deliveries turn up, and get a set of keys."
"Keys? What for?"
"So we can take one of the prison vans that we use to transport the cons to court and back."
Janine sighed and forced out a smile. "We?"
"Well I assume you're coming with me, aren't you?"
She smiled and nodded her head, two tears appeared in each of her eyes, but refused to fall. "Definitely!" she exclaimed.
"Before we go, I think we better raid the staff's fridge and take bottles of water. We can toss them over the fence as we climb over."
Janine added, "We could just stay here, and get our food from the prisoners' cells. They all have food; there would be plenty of tea, coffee and water. I'm sure the prison has back-up generators. We could sleep in the bubble on a night, we—"
"We would go mad within a week. I could think of better places to go, besides, not too sure how long this place can go on until the electricity dies, and the generators won't last forever. If this thing is as bad as they say it is, it'll be like living in the dark ages. Could you spend your time on the wings in the darkness? Even in the daylight it's dark in here."
"At least we'll be alive."
Jamie shook his head, he didn't agree. "It's no way to live. A
re you coming or not?"
Chapter Eight
David Pointer reached for the remote and put the TV onto standby; he had seen enough. He then looked to his shaken wife, Davina, who was clearly distraught and confused about the news that was finally being soaked up by her brain.
He asked in a soft voice that was coated in shock, "So what happens now?"
She shrugged her shoulders; she was hoping that he would have some answers.
He quickly stood up; the room span once as he got to his feet too quickly. He looked over to his daughter, Isobel, who sat in the corner of the living room, innocently playing, oblivious to the catastrophe that was being broadcasted around the world.
He walked over to his daughter, stroked her blonde hair and kissed the back of her head; he then looked over to his wife. "Go upstairs, both of you get dressed."
"What about you?" Davina wiped her eyes.
"I'm gonna stay down here for a bit, get some food and water. We're going into the attic."
David walked over to his unopened living room blinds, and nervously placed his fingers inbetween them and carefully pulled them apart about two inches. The street was desolate; he shook his head. There doesn't seem to be anybody about.
David walked briskly around the house, as his wife and daughter began progressing upstairs. He checked the patio door in the back room; he pulled the blind down to the floor and struggled to move the leather couch against the door. As he dragged the couch towards the door, it had made a huge scratch on the wooden floor, something that would normally anger Davina, but under the circumstances David was sure it was something he wasn't going to be in trouble for.
Satisfied that the back room was secured, he shut the door behind him, went to the reception area and made sure the front door was locked. He knew it wasn't that strong and recognised that this was probably the weak spot of the house. It was locked, and he moved everything that he could think of against the front door, TVs, tables...any kind of furniture that would cause an obstacle.
Snatchers: Volume One (The Zombie Apocalypse Series Box Set--Books 1-3) Page 4