by Al K. Line
Using her firewalled laptop she began to delve deeper and deeper into the research she had carried out to gain the data packets to cause the infection. A lot of what she accessed could not be viewed at all — there was too much of a risk of infection, so she had to rely on speech recognition software to read out to her what was on the screen. It was laborious and extremely frustrating work, and absolutely soul destroying when she ventured onto social media. Twitter and Facebook, along with a few other worldwide popular social media sites, were still running in a pared down capacity, and the things posted almost made her rip her face off with despair. Not only for the excruciatingly sad stories that she heard read out to her by the inhuman software, but because people that were not infected were still on the sites talking nonsense and trying to pretend that the end of civilization hadn't happened at all.
There were memes, there were posts about their day, and there were rants and ravings about governments and the army, the police and more, and how they were to blame in one way or another. Never mind that they had become infected just like the rest of society. The saddest thing of all was that those still active on such platforms seemed incapable of doing anything to help themselves. They simply lamented the lack of basic essentials and hoped it would all go away, venting their frustrations to an audience that was no longer there and wouldn't have cared if it was. Over just the course of a few weeks the activity dried up, more and more people succumbing to the infection. Dying, or losing their fragile connection to the fragmented virtuality they held onto via fiber optic cables. Yet Ven was as bad as them. There was no reason for her to spend time listening to the ever more outrageous conspiracy theories and talk of infection. It did nothing to help her quest, it was just what she did, what everyone did, and given the opportunity to return to such places it was a hard habit to break. Eventually she gave up on social media and blocked it from her laptop for her own good; she had to get to work, discover what had really happened.
She managed to trace back the data packets via routes scrubbed by whoever had corrupted what she herself had stolen. It seemed extremely likely that what she had stolen was corrupted by the man, Sarlic Acwell, that had done the research in the first place. There were the slightest of hints about his murky past, but nothing detailed.
After days more careful delving her suspicions were confirmed, there was no longer any doubt about what had happened. It was the best thing she uncovered, and the worst. The thing that made her realize her quest was at an end. A video message left buried deeply in code right where she had taken some of the image fragments that formed the zombie botnet.
It was vitriol personified. An old man, riddled with cancer and as bitter as any pill you were ever likely to swallow, shouted, screamed and smiled at her audacity, the world in general, the nerve of trying to steal his work and the happiness he felt knowing that before he committed suicide the work she had tried to use to her own ends would be used to destroy her, her entire world, and the rest of humanity that deserved nothing less. It put an end to her hope of finding a solution to the problem, and allowed her to finally realize that it was not her to blame for the degrading of humanity, although it would always be her work that helped spread the infection, regardless of motive.
What was abundantly clear was that there was no way to discover the exact images used in the sequence — what she had thought she had used was not what was finally sent out to the world. Her stolen data packet had been manipulated and the tweaks within it were coded within the sequences she thought she was using, only to morph into something else when live. The only possible way to now understand the sequence was to watch it — you didn't come back from that.
So with her back aching, her body a mess, her quest a failure but at least resolved, she looked up from her screen and said, "Hello Tomas, does my little man want to come give mummy a cuddle?" He squirmed in Kyle's arms with delight, a smile spreading across his face, and with arms outstretched to a tired looking mummy he was handed to her.
Everything seemed right in the world again, at least for a few precious moments anyway.
Candyfloss
"Oh, man, what I wouldn't give for some candyfloss," said Kyle, licking his lips.
"I am liking the candyfloss as well, the sugar is a good thing for me is what I am thinking." Al rubbed his substantial belly which rumbled in agreement. It had taken some time but finally Al's burst ear drum had mended, and ever since he had been a lot more enjoyable to be around.
They had been talking about where to go next, a break was definitely in order after the last few weeks of utter madness. Ven was back to her usual self, actually happier than she had been since the botnet went live. Finally putting to rest the demons that had been haunting her felt like the weight of the world was lifted from her shoulders; the blame she felt finally lessened.
Ven had begun to get her shape back. She had given Al a run for his money when it came to eating over the last few days. Coming back to her senses after what seemed like a lifetime of total Web immersion she had found herself ravenously hungry. She rapidly went from looking malnourished to resuming her slim, yet curvy, figure in just a few days of eating huge meals and beginning to do some actual exercise for the first time in her life.
The activity of fighting the infected before her two week hiatus of utter bodily neglect meant that her body craved motion and the use of muscles on a daily basis now. Two weeks holed up in a room hunched over a monitor had left her limbs screaming for movement — the muscle memory returned easily enough.
Ven had mentioned the fairground as a destination after seeing the posters taped to now dark streetlights. There were countless funfairs set up all through the summer in the United Kingdom — they stayed for a week then they packed up and went off to the next booking. At least, that's what used to happen. Not exactly Disneyland, but a huge part of British culture, and one they all missed. There was just one huge reservation: Al and his totally irrational phobia.
"There will be the clowns though, will there not? And I am absolutely, indubitably not liking the evil clown men even just a little bit. We cannot go and have a fun time at the fair if it will be full with the men with the red noses and the big feet and the scary make-up," said a petrified looking Al, looking around Basil bus just in case the very mention of the evil had brought it forth from whatever hell was reserved for clowns.
Kyle and Ven exchanged looks, trying not to snicker at the thought of Al, the man who swatted zombies like they were flies, actually scared of a man in a funny wig and over-sized shoes.
"Al, stay cool dude. Remember, nearly everyone is dead or a zombie, there won't be any clowns now, chill out. And what's with 'indubitably' anyway?" said Kyle, trying to think what could have caused such a bad reaction to clowns with Al. "There won't be, will there?" Kyle asked Ven.
"Doubt it, although if one got infected and managed to survive then..."
"No, we must not go if there could be the zombie clowns, that would be much worse indeed and would spoil the day at the fair. And it is my word for the day Kyle, you are being a philistine is what I am thinking." Al sat back and crossed his arms in a huff, not before he took one more look around, just in case evil devil clowns were lurking under the seats.
"Okay, how about this. We go to the fair, it's just a few miles judging by the posters all over the place, and if it looks safe then we can have a little look around. I haven't been since I was a teenager, and I don't see why there would be loads of clowns running around. It's all just rides and stalls for games now isn't it. It's not like we are going to the big top or anything," enthused Kyle, trying to convince Al that it would be a great fun day out.
"Alright Kyle, but if there are any signs that clowns are going to be doing their evil things at us then it will be your fault and I will not be dealing with the foul faces and the big shoes, you will." Al sat back in the chair again, way too small for such a large frame, and crossed his arms above his chest again, this time with defiance.
Ven shout
ed back from the driver's seat, "Right, we going then?"
"Yeah baby," shouted Kyle.
"Suppose," said an unnaturally succinct Al.
"Woof," agreed Bos Bos.
"Blurgle," agreed Tomas.
So off to the funfair they went.
###
The windshield wipers on the bus were coming to the end of their supposed guaranteed 1.5 million wipes. They scratched slow and squeakily from side to side, doing little more than smearing the rain around the muddy glass. Trying to get a clear view ahead was a constant battle.
Summer had morphed into autumn slowly but unerringly. The cooler temperatures were welcomed by Al, warmer weather mourned by Kyle and Ven. Ven had missed the last of any semblance of sunshine while hunting down the source of the zombie botnet, now the weather was firmly of the regular British kind: cool, wet, and mostly overcast.
It was now months since the infection began, and ever since they had finally scored some weapons and protective equipment they had driven around quite a large proportion of the easier to navigate roads. Things had degenerated to a very high level. Ven had been expecting the situation to improve, for survivors to band together and rebuild society, for people to begin to clean up the streets and move the dead bodies. To help rebuild. To return to the morality that had held society together previously.
None of that had happened.
Madness seemed to be escalating if anything, as resources became more coveted, and survivors were willing to fight over more and more insignificant items of food and shelter.
They had experienced countless encounters with the infected, who seemed capable of surviving for very extended periods of time without food, though they didn't look too hot for the lack of sustenance. This was a major concern in its own right, but it was humans of the still living kind that were now becoming the main issue.
There had been attempted hijacks of their vehicle, supposed newly made friends who ran off with equipment as soon as they could. Even attempted outright offers of swapping members of their own groups for some of their goods and equipment. Ven found it impossible to believe that a person would take her to one side and offer up their 'so-called' best friend as an actual slave if they could be on their way with a few pistols and a tin of spam.
It was more than enough to make you lose any faith you had remaining in most of humanity. It was as if all that was left were the dregs. Where did all the good guys go?
Without strict control, and fear of punishment for wrong-doing, a force of law and order to dole out justice, and the overriding need to conform, then it seemed that most people really weren't actually very nice, and that was being generous.
They had driven past blocked off sections of towns, even whole villages barricaded, where they were greeted with nothing but either hostility or attempts to take what was theirs from them and leave them to fend for themselves.
It was a major concern so they stuck to quieter stretches of road, avoiding towns if at all possible. Foraying into small hamlets or individual lone houses in the countryside when they needed to find supplies and scavenge for food as best they could.
It had been a long few months, topped off with Ven going slightly bonkers for a few weeks trying, and failing, to get to the root of the cause of the infection and find a way to rectify the situation.
Now it was time for some relaxation, a little bit of fun, and to continue what had been a very pleasant few days driving around some of the loveliest and quaintest villages in rural England. The quiet time had more than restored Ven to her normal self. Tomas was happy his mum was back to cuddle him and to tickle his feet, even Bos Bos preferred Ven back to being talkative and happy though it meant less chance to nick sandwiches. That's how much he loved her.
The leaves were beginning to fall from the trees, most still clinging to their branches, reveling in their golden hues before they slowly made their descent to the sodden road below. England was beautiful in the autumn, color abounded. The grass was virile and green, sucking up the rain after such a dry, long summer. It grew at record speed while the opportunity arose, before the cold sent it into stasis through the always too long winter.
Basil bus trundled on through the English countryside, brushing its roof against the tops of soon to be bare trees, gently pruning them back to shapes normally enforced by much heavier road traffic. Mud splashed up the sides, leaves stuck to the wheels, and now and then the remains of human bodies were either avoided or run right over, sodden and rotting in the lanes and roads of rural England.
It really could depress you if you let it.
So some candyfloss sounded like just the ticket to lift the spirits and take a break from the confines of the '50s red and cream bus for a few hours. They deserved it after all.
Zombie Funfair
The posters became more and more frequent as they approached the site for the fair. Everyone had been expecting a long deserted field with a few rides and tattered remains of stalls flapping noisily in the wind, people desperate for food and clinging to an old way of life. Hoping at most for a couple of rides that they could get going if there was a generator with any fuel left. It was all a bit of wishful thinking, they knew, but it didn't hurt to have a reason to stretch your legs and maybe get lucky for once.
As they approached the destination though, things took a mighty turn for the surreal.
They could hear fairground music, and there was a definite smell of real, actual, genuine candyfloss!
"Guys, guys, you better come and look at this," shouted a stunned Kyle from the driver's seat. "You are not going to believe this, it's freaking bonkers. I mean it's as mad as a fridge and then some. Come check I haven't lost it and am really seeing this for real."
Al lumbered to his feet, detritus of his last snack dropping to the floor as he rose. Ven eyed him, giving him her sternest look, Al ducked his head and averted his gaze, pretending not to see. "Coming Kyle, I am wondering what the excitement is?" he said hurriedly, furtively looking at Ven like the wrappers and crumbs were nothing to do with him in the slightest.
Bos Bos lifted his head from the bed in the aisle he had made by nicking one of Kyle's t-shirts and dragging it into a festering heap.
"C'mon Bos Bos, outta the way. Let's go see what Kyle is all excited about shall w—" It hit her mid sentence. The smell of candyfloss. The smell of the fair. "Bloody hell."
It hit Bos Bos too, he was up and at the front before the others, wagging at Kyle, looking out of the window. Ven and Al weren't far behind.
"Is that candyfloss I can actually really smell?"
"Guess so, look," pointed Kyle, one hand driving, the other pointing out the totally obvious.
"It's a proper funfair, like really. With moving rides, and food, and people. Just like, normal people. This is way too surreal, totally crazy."
"Um, should we go then? I mean, I want to and all, but we haven't seen hardly any un-infected people and now here we are with loads of them and a bloody working fairground for Christ's sake. Does it strike you as weird or what?" said Ven.
"Yup, it's weird as hell alright, but what are we going to do? We've been seen anyway, so we may as well go check it out," said an excited Kyle.
"I am wanting a hot-dog. No, five hot-dogs is what I am going to have." Al licked his lips greedily, his belly rumbling. Kyle's started up in agreement.
"Okay then, here we go," said Kyle.
He pulled up a short time later at a large double gate, part of a fence that surrounded the whole huge swathe of common land that contained the funfair, just as it had since the middle ages when such traditions of traveling funfairs first became part of British culture. Running parallel to the outer fence was an identical inner one, and both perimeters were manned by serious looking men with very pointy weapons. The remains of the infected lay at irregular intervals, and as they pulled up bodies were being thrown unceremoniously into the backs of trucks. There were numerous vehicles parked on the other side, before a short walk to the fairground pr
oper. In a very seriously re-enforced security hut there were a group of men talking amongst themselves, they quickly came out as the bus pulled up.
One of them signaled for them to disembark.
They got out warily, weapons held, but in as unaggressive a manner as possible.
"Are there clowns?" asked Al, staring menacingly at the man at the gate. Oblivious to the fact there were five more behind him, all well armed with an assortment of deadly, if not ballistic based, weaponry.
"What? Clowns? No. Um, dunno, why? Now look, I ask the questions anyway, and there are rules. First," he ticked off on fingers that had obviously seen a lot of manual work, "no talking about zombies, people don't like it. Second, no guns, people don't like that either. Third, you don't pay you don't play. Fourth.... Dan, Dan, what's the fourth rule?"
An older man stepped forward, eyeing Al and the rest with outright hostility. "Rule four is that if you steal you don't get to leave," he said gruffly.
"Yeah, right, thanks Dan. And rule five is that if you cause trouble you don't get to leave either. So, you in or what?"
"How are you here? I don't get it. With almost everyone dead how come there is a bloody fair? What about the zombies? And how much is it to get in anyway?" Ven was sure she would wake any moment now to find she was asleep at the wheel of the bus heading for a ditch. It was just too freaky to explain any other way.
"Whoa, chill out missy. What did I just say? No talking about zombies. You don't ask our business and we won't ask you about yours, okay? We are here as we have always been here. We work the fair and our fathers worked the fair, so what else we gonna do? Now we all stay put as it's too dangerous loading everything up and moving about the place. Now people come to us, those that are left anyway. As to cost, what you got?"
"We have loads of stuff, what you looking for? We want entrance for three adults, one child, and one dog please," said Kyle, not quite believing he was asking how much ticket prices to the fair were during a zombie apocalypse.