Death Plague [Four Zombie Novels]

by Ian Woodhead

  Dean also knew that no other country had achieved positive results. They were on the verge of cracking the code, only the live animal testing remained.

  They’d chosen several rats, including Gertrude, because of their advanced age; they only had months at the most to live. A few weeks to study the side effects sounded ideal. Graham believed that the rodents would now live for at least another eighty years. Of course, the team had no plans to wait for that long. Human testing was due to begin in under two years’ time.

  Gertrude was the first rat to start showing signs of abnormal behaviour. Dean watched Graham rush over to the cage whilst the rat was squealing in agony and attempting to gnaw her way through the bars. As soon as the man got closer to the cage, the rat threw herself at the door. Before anyone knew what was happening, Graham lay on the floor, his agonizing screams muffled by the rat’s body stretched across his face.

  The bio-containment procedures activated automatically. The room sealed, but nobody thought to check on the other infected animals. Dean watched in horror as Gertrude chewed through the man’s cheek. He almost passed out when Graham then got off the floor, pulled the rat off him and threw it across the room. He then shambled towards the glass partition.

  Alarm after alarm went off throughout the complex; he took one last look at Graham’s mutilated face before running towards the exit. Watching his normally placid colleagues behaving like a herd of stampeding cattle brought out his own helpless panic, exacerbated when a young girl fell to the floor screaming and shrieking as another white rat scurried over her body and bit into the poor girl’s neck. Dean pushed past several people, not caring about anything else but getting out of there. He looked towards the main exit, he saw the steel shutters getting ready to drop down and ran faster then he’d ever run in his life to reach that door before the shutter dropped.

  Dean jumped at the sound of the uniformed guard requesting to see the woman’s ticket; he fumbled through his trouser pockets while watching the old woman return from wherever the sandman had taken her. He could guarantee that it would be certainly a lot better place than where he’d come from.

  The inspector exchanged pleasantries with the woman while punching her ticket. The woman may have been old enough to be the inspector’s mother, but it didn’t stop her from flirting with him. Dean felt a strange pang of jealousy; she hadn’t even looked at him. He pushed the odd thought to the back of his mind as the inspector punched his own ticket before exiting the carriage. He wondered if he was emitting some sort of pheromone that caused women to either ignore him or try to pick a fight. Speaking of which, he vaguely wondered how long it would be before that inspector came back this way with that homeless girl trapped in a headlock. He shook his head, she’d be too streetwise to get caught; she was probably already hiding in the toilets, waiting for him to go past.

  The older woman had already fallen back to sleep. Dean envied her, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to sleep again. He waited for a couple of minutes, watching a globule of drool try to escape from the corner of the woman’s mouth. If that inspector did come back this way and saw her saliva laying along the seat like a narrow slug trail, that woman would have scuppered her chance of getting off with him.

  As soon as the first muffled snore escaped, Dean judged it would be safe enough to get out his laptop; Dean just had to find out what the current situation was. He gave the carriage one more glance before he unzipped his black leather case and placed the computer on the table before him. He’d placed the bag beside his leg as soon as he’d boarded the train; this was one piece of equipment that he couldn’t afford to lose. Dean shuddered to think what the consequences would have been if that girl had seen the bag and run off with it.

  He logged in and waited impatiently while a connection was established. He should still be able to patch into the building’s security cameras without tripping any alarms. The authorities shouldn’t have cut the servers just yet. Thankfully, they’d housed the main computer systems in another institute somewhere on the south coast.

  A soft beep informed Dean that his connection to the institute was now secure; that took a huge weight off his shoulders. Christ knows what he could have accomplished if he hadn’t been granted access. He typed in Graham’s old user ID and password and he now had access to every camera in the building. Dean tapped in a random number on the virtual keypad on his monitor screen and within moments the view of a deserted corridor greeted him. He didn’t have the facility to zoom or pan, which was a bloody annoyance. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need it.

  Dean stared at the grainy black and white image for a couple of seconds, it didn’t make sense; nothing appeared to be out of place. Then he looked closer. Spread across the floor tiles at the far end of the corridor next to an open door Dean noticed what looked like a lake of fluid. It looked too dark to be water.

  “Could it be blood?” he whispered.

  Why the hell had they installed these archaic devices in the first place? It beggared belief that they spent more than some third world countries in their research, but they couldn’t even install a few colour cameras.

  The more he stared, the more reluctant he became to view the rest of the cameras. He took a deep breath, then tapped in the camera number for the main lab. Dean gasped in shock and almost dropped the laptop on the floor when the cameras switched view. Dean spun his head away from the bloody carnage and looked at the woman sleeping like a fucking baby.

  If he had witnessed that in glorious Technicolor, Dean knew that he’d have lost his breakfast. He forced himself back to the screen, despite every cell in his body ordering him to turn this bloody thing off, he knew he had to finish this.

  Dark liquid covered the tiled floor, severed body parts were piled up in one corner, next to an overturned computer chair. Despite the devastation, Dean noticed a couple of his colleagues still in the room, seemingly unharmed. Oh, this was a welcome break, there were survivors; maybe this wasn’t as bad as he initially feared. Dean wished that there was a way to communicate with them. If there were two in the main labs, then there were bound to be others scattered around the building.

  He watched an older man approach the armoured window and gaze into the testing area. His body blocked Dean’s view so he couldn’t see if Graham was still inside. There was something not quite right about that man, he moved as though he was still asleep, like an automaton. Dean watched him press both his hands against the glass; it was as if he needed something in that room.

  One more figure caught Dean’s attention, he sat cross legged in the middle of the floor, oblivious of the lake of blood surrounding him. The man was holding a club or thick stick of some kind, Dean couldn’t tell.

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  The man brought it to his mouth and bit into it. Dean leaned closer to the screen, not believing what the camera was showing him. He moved his head and Dean clearly saw three fingers and a thumb attached to a mutilated hand.

  He slammed the lid down and bit the inside of his cheek. “Oh shit, oh shit. What the hell is going on?”

  Dean then noticed the old woman staring at him; she gathered her bags, gave him a single backward glance and hurried out of the carriage, leaving him alone, shocked and very confused.

  Chapter Four

  A seemingly endless collection of bright green and yellow fields hurtled past Alison’s window. She’d forgotten just how vivid and colourful the countryside was. In the city, dull greys and browns had filled her day.

  When the train had stopped at the last station, Alison leaned out of the open door for just a few seconds to breathe in the fresh air, and with every breath she took, Alison could almost believe that the pure air stripped away the city’s grime layer by layer. Of course, she knew that this was so much bullshit, but it was nice to think that it was true. One aspect that did ring true was that her sense of smell was returning to normal, and the first thing she discovered was that she wasn’t as clean as she believed herself to be, probably why she had snap
ped at that man earlier.

  As soon as she reached her destination, Alison made a promise that her first job would be to find a bed and breakfast and take a long hot bath. She’d attempted to wash herself in the toilets on the train, but those taps were about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

  Alison stared at the grime under her fingernails, wondering just how long that had been there…odd how she’d never noticed it before now. She picked up the last half of her sandwich and took a huge bite, wondering just how much dirt and crap she’d unknowingly ingested since she’d been sleeping rough. Her irrelevant musing went straight out of the window as soon as the sandwich contents hit her taste buds. Along with her sense of smell, they’d begun to operate properly too. She swallowed the mushy mess and bit out another chunk of sandwich.

  She jumped and almost choked on her food when the phone in her pocket vibrated. Alison dug it out of her back pocket, waited for it to stop vibrating, then placed it on the back seat ledge next to her empty sandwich wrapper. The number was an unknown, and there was no way Alison should answer that. Perhaps she ought to turn it off, or even better, throw it in the bin. She stared at the phone for another couple of seconds before the lure of food brought her back to the sandwich; chances are that it was just a wrong number.

  She’d almost eaten this one. When Alison stood by the counter in the buffet coach earlier on contemplating which type of sandwich to buy, her eyes caught sight of a single sausage roll. It had only been a few minutes so the chances were that it should still be there. A chocolate bar would also go down a treat, maybe two, and after that lot, a large cup of hot coffee with plenty of sugar.

  The sight of her phone still bothered her. Only two other people knew the number and they were listed as Danielle and Maggie. Alison had befriended the pair of them the same night she’d arrived in the city. Three young girls all from different parts of the country had arrived on the same night, within minutes of each other.

  Looking back, her life could have been so much different if she’d befriended a local girl instead of those two shivering strangers who were in the same boat as her. Somebody like who’d Alison had turned into for example.

  For the first few weeks, they didn’t leave each other’s sight. They shared a similar pain, each girls having valid reasons for fleeing from their homes.

  Prior to meeting her new companions, Alison genuinely believed that no other person would be able to relate to the trauma that she had endured just a couple of nights before. Listening to Maggie, she found that her own experience just paled into significance.

  Maggie’s boyfriend ran with a gang that terrorised a large London housing estate. Another gang took offence at his ambitions and as punishment, they snatched the girl outside her own home, stuffed Maggie into the boot of their car and drove her to a derelict warehouse. Over the course of a full day, the gang members took turns in raping her.

  Danielle didn’t want to tell them why she had run away, not at first. Her story came out a couple of nights later after they’d drunk four large bottles of cider that they’d shoplifted from a late opening off license. Slurring her words, Danielle told them that her stepfather had been using her as a sexual plaything since the age of thirteen.

  Alison picked the phone off the ledge; it had been weeks since she’d used this thing. The original idea had been to use the phones to warn each other if any of their clients became violent.

  She had forgotten how long it had been since Alison had run into Danielle and Maggie. Unlike her, they had both fallen foul of the local dealers. Their money now financed their habits.

  The phone vibrated again, and this time it was a message. Alison threw the remainder of her sandwich on the seat beside her when she saw it was from Maggie.

  “Oh, God!” she cried.

  She quickly read the message, feeling her heart slam against her rib-cage. Somehow they’d already found the body of the dealer. Maggie pleaded with her to return the stolen money, saying that the associates would be lenient if she did. Alison shook her head, completely thrown by the text. How the bloody hell could anybody know that she’d been the one who’d killed him? Especially Maggie. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Like I’m going back to that hell-hole,” she muttered. No, she’d already chosen her future and nobody, not even her old friends could make her change Alison’s mind. Thinking clearly, it was obvious how they’d known about Glen, the bastard must have been their supplier.

  “They chose their demon, let them live with their decision.”

  Despite her harsh words, Alison really wished that she could have taken her friends away from the city.

  The train began to slow down; they must be getting ready to stop again. Alison watched a young couple pass her seat; they both looked to be in a great deal of stress. She heard him tell the woman not to worry about her parents, there was no way that they could have gone missing. The violence in London couldn’t really be as bad as the news were making it out.

  When they had gone, Alison sat back in her seat, thinking about what it must be like to worry about such meaningless rubbish.

  Chapter five

  He opened one eye a crack—she’d left his side. George sighed in contentment, rolled into the warm vacant space, and pushed his face into the pillow. He could still smell the woman’s unique perfume. Where had Anne disappeared? More importantly, would she return?

  He pricked up his ears at the sound of singing coming from downstairs.

  “She’s still here,” he sat up and rubbed his face, wincing when he remembered that he hadn’t shaved this morning. “That poor woman must have thick skin. I’ll have to have a bloody good shave before we do that again.” That thought brought another smile to his face; he reckoned that the chance of another round of bedroom Olympics with that virile woman was definitely high on the agenda.

  He finally located her voice, Anne must be in the kitchen. His heart suddenly went into overdrive when he remembered Gruff was supposed to be in there too. George jumped out of bed and padded over to the window. His dog sat on his patio staring at the kitchen window. George couldn’t believe he was seeing this, she’d made friends with his dog already. Bloody hell, that woman was amazing! He gazed down at his shrivelled penis. “In more ways than one.”

  Gruff must have sensed that he was being observed, he looked up, barked once then darted across his garden, and the big oaf crashed through his pea plants before sitting down in his carrot patch for some reason, George wasn’t the least bit bothered. He left the window and crawled back into the warm bed.

  For the first time since Madison passed away, George felt happy. He’d go see her later today to explain his actions, but he was sure she’d understand. Madison would want him to be happy.

  He giggled, George was happy alright; he lifted the covers and discovered that his little man was now not so little. “Bloody hell, it’s like I’m sixteen all over again.”

  George heard the side door open and Anne calling Gruff a naughty boy. His dog always rolled onto his back every time George told him off. He could imagine him doing the same with Anne. He was unsure of how he felt about another person getting so friendly with his only companion. He heard the door shutting and put aside his stupid jealous thoughts.

  The bedroom door slowly creaked open, and Anne reversed in holding a breakfast tray. The sight of the tray confused him a little, he had no idea she’d been cooking him food; he’d yet to detect the pleasant aroma of bacon or sausages. Perhaps it was a bowl of cornflakes. No, it couldn’t be, George had no cereal in the house.

  She placed the tray down on the covers and he saw two white bowls, both full of multicoloured berries and assorted nuts and other less identifiable bits. What the bloody hell was this? It looked like hamster food.

  “Come on, George, eat up, this is good for you.” She put her hand under the covers, he groaned when her fingers walked closer to his penis. “It gives you stamina.” She gripped his shaft. “Because, believe you me, you’re
going to need it.”

  He picked a dried strawberry out of the bowl, popped it into his mouth and chewed. George closed his eyes and sighed softly when she climbed back into bed beside him, Anne kissed him on the tip of his nose.

  “I’m sorry,”

  George opened his eyes. “What for?”

  “Well, for making the first move, for acting all slutty.”

  He spat out a half-chewed berry. “Don’t be sorry, Anne, I didn’t think you were slutty… a little forward, perhaps.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, well, one of us had to make the first move.”

  He nodded, wondering if he had been giving out the wrong signals. George had found her attractive but not in that way. He decided to keep that nugget of information to himself.

  “Tom is going to be so upset when he finds out, you know.” She grabbed his hand and gently squeezed.

  “Tom? You mean the butcher?”

  Anne nodded, “Yes, he’s been after me for years. You’re a good man, George. Your aura is clear.”

  He blinked, “My what is clear?”

  Anne giggled. “Your aura, your life energy.” She squeezed his hand again.

  What on earth was the woman going on about? He’d listened in on her respecting the planet speeches many times before, usually in the lounge of the Rose and Crown and definitely after he’d downed more than a couple of pints of the pub’s fine ales. George had never really listened to her actual words, he just enjoyed the way that she was able to get under the skins of the other locals. The other reason he listened in was that the woman had such a beautiful voice.

  “George, I promise that I’ll explain everything a bit later on.”