by Luke Duffy
A grey haired man appeared on the screen.
“Over the past five days, we have taken samples from numerous flu and attack victims. The findings were the same, but at different levels.
“While most of the flu victims, except for the aggressive strain, became lethargic and sick for up to a week with some making a full recovery, the bite victims became feverous and incapacitated within twenty four hours. So far, at the most, we have seen a bite victim continue to fight the virus for up to four days, before they succumbed and died.
“On reanimating, they show no vital signs. Heart rate, blood pressure, and core temperature are exactly what you would expect from any cadaver. They do not react to stimuli, or even recognise the people around them, and will attack on sight any living organism they encounter, including humans.
“The bite victims of the aggressive strain die, on average, within seventy two hours, and then revive and attack the living within a few hours after death. The time period has been recorded from as little as two hours, to as long as eight.
“Now, we have found that all recently dead, reanimate. Whether they die from the flu, a bite or even a car crash, every dead body will rise and attack the living. The virus seems to have mutated once again and is now a part the atmosphere, causing the recently deceased to revive. From what we know, the mutation to airborne does not mean that the living will be affected any further. It only causes the dead to reanimate.
“The bite victims develop a high fever, vomiting, headaches and eventually death. The results on revival vary. We have discovered that the fitter and more active the patient before death, the more mobile they are once they reanimate. Some of the cadavers on revival have been known to run, albeit at a slower and more uncoordinated pace than their living counterparts, and some can even problem solve with the likes of opening doors and using stairs.
“They do not recognise authority or even family members and will not react to emotional or sentimental encouragement. Their instincts are rudimentary and so far, we have discovered that they cannot be reasoned, or bargained with. They recognise nothing of their old lives and all emotional attachment should be disconnected from family members who become infected.
“We have discovered that the brain is the key to their revival and continued existence. Without the brain intact, the body cannot reanimate.
“We must remember that these are no longer our family and friends. Regardless of what we say or do, they will not react to their past lives, names, places, emotions or trinkets. They are nothing more than reanimated corpses that are, for some unknown reason, intent on killing and eating anything living that crosses their path.”
Regardless of the situation and the attacks, many people still refused to believe that their friends and family would want to hurt them. Entire households became infected and that led to whole streets, districts, and before long, towns and cities.
The governments, in their haste to explain the situation had forgotten to pass new emergency laws on how to treat and deal with the infected. So when confronted with a walking corpse or violent strain of flu, people feared prosecution should they hurt or even kill their attacker.
To add to the problem, many people had friends or family who became infected, or even died through natural causes at home. Once revived, they could not reason that the thing that had just sat up and now walked towards them was anything other than their wife, husband, son, daughter, or even best friend.
Emotion and sentimentality became one of the deciding factors for humanity losing the war against the dead plague.
Whole cities and towns were lost throughout the world, as the authorities tried to stem the spread and regain control. What many did not know until it was too late was that the dead and infected could not feel pain on the same level as living people, or feel fear or consider consequences of their actions. Entire police and army units were sent in to secure this street or that square, only to be swallowed up and never seen again.
Some countries took a more extreme approach. Having lost cities and large areas to the infection, they tried reclaiming them with air strikes.
Many of the infected were blown apart in the attacks.
However, the air strikes created more dead than they destroyed. Most cities were still heavily populated by the living, holed up and trying to survive. Once the bombing started, they were either killed in the blasts and the fires, or their defences were destroyed and left open to the dead. For all the reanimated they killed, the ranks of the infected were replenished by the collateral casualties of war.
The Third World countries were written off by the West and Europe. Africa and Asia were left to die, and America closed its borders and waterways along Mexico and the Gulf area. Whole army divisions were sent to those areas to shoot anyone attempting to cross onto US soil. In the meantime, the other states fell to pieces with the spread of the infection within their own borders.
Worldwide communications began slowly to deteriorate. Mobile networks became temperamental and even the internet showed signs of failure. With people dying or abandoning their posts, the daily maintenance that was vital to the upkeep of the smooth running global communications network was not being carried out, and the more delicate systems were beginning to suffer.
City after city across the world fell silent, except for the moans and wails of the dead who shuffled aimlessly, en masse through the streets.
Any survivors were left to fend for themselves.
13
Matthew, returning from a long weekend away from work with his family, made his way through the office building. He strutted with vigour, whistling cheerfully as he sauntered along the corridor, gently swinging his briefcase in step with his feet.
He was wearing his favourite suit, a deep blue Italian cut three piece with white pinstripes. It fit like a glove and always made him glow with confidence. He felt fresh and re-energised, ready to meet the day head on.
The break had been seriously needed, for all of them. It had been a while since the family had the chance to enjoy a weekend together, without him having to think about work. Instead, he had left on the Thursday, and treated himself to three days of ignoring phone calls, refusing to even consider reading an email and in general, forgetting the world outside of his front door as he savoured the time he spent with his children.
For the whole weekend, thoughts of anything serious had been banned from the house. News channels were forbidden and only movies and cartoons were allowed. The four of them had spent the days in their pyjamas, watching the likes of Shrek and Spider-Man, and playing board games, completely oblivious to the government announcements that were being made with regards to a flu epidemic that was sweeping into the country.
He could have taken longer, but seventy-two hours of pretending to still be in love his wife, was more than enough to renew his appreciation of having a workplace where he could hide from her. Besides, thoughts of Michelle and the delights she had to offer were becoming more frequent in his lusting mind.
He needed his fix.
He had not heard from her for the whole time he had taken off and the absence of communication and the lack of the provocative picture messages that she normally sent to him during their time apart, were making him begin to feel needy.
The building seemed strangely quiet, just as the journey to work had done. The streets were empty, compared to how he usually found them on a Monday morning. His drive to the office had been easy, stress free, and he had not felt the urge to scream at anyone for their lack of consideration on the road.
He had begun to doubt himself at one point, needing to pull over and check his diary, making sure that it was not a Bank Holiday.
Now, in his office building, it too seemed devoid of most of the people he expected to see on a daily basis. Office doors normally open with the sounds of phones ringing and voices speaking loudly, were closed and silent.
Familiar faces that he would normally pass on the way to his office, were absent and more and
more of the workspaces that he passed by, were abandoned, their usual occupants, nowhere to be seen.
Is there a big meeting that I didn’t know about? He wondered.
He turned the final corner before his office, still whistling and hoping to see the teasing smoky eyes of his assistant.
Instead, he was met with a pale withdrawn face that looked exhausted and about to collapse at her desk. Michelle’s eyes were rimmed red, looking sore and barely able to focus while her hair looked lank and hung over her face in unkempt strands. Her nose, normally slender with a very slight upturn at the tip, seemed bulbous and glowing a deep pink.
The extremely attractive woman had been replaced by an apparition.
She looked up at him as he swaggered along the corridor, the smile rapidly evaporating from his lips, and being replaced with a look of alarm. His confident walk changed to a hesitant shuffle as he stared in disbelief, unable to relate the ghostly vision to the woman that he spent so much of his time thirsting over.
“Jesus, Michelle,” he gasped, “are you okay?”
“Do I look it?” She replied hoarsely with annoyance and immediately began to sputter with a rattle that emitted from her chest.
Matthew stopped, subconsciously keeping a healthy distance from her desk and sheepishly looked down at his shoes.
“Well, no, not really. What is it?”
“Flu, I think,” she replied, paying him no particular interest and giving him the impression that she was in no mood to talk to him.
Matthew got the picture just from her body language, but he did not want to leave it at just that. In the ten years he had known her, he had never seen her in such an ill state and he felt genuine concern for her.
“Michelle, you should go home. Seriously, you look like you’re at death’s door.”
“Thanks, Matt,” she replied sarcastically, still looking at the screen in front of her and avoiding his eyes. “You look great.”
Again, he realised that he was not approaching or handling things in a particularly skilful manner. He knew that he would need to be more sensitive, but his mind was still filled with other thoughts, and he was having to slowly but surely push them aside and make room for other feelings that did not involve them both having a quick sex session in the stationary room and away from prying eyes.
“Sorry,” he replied finally after a moment of awkward silence. “I just think that you shouldn’t be here and should be at home, tucked up in bed. I read something last week about a particularly nasty African strain of flu going about, and to be honest, I worry about you. I could drop by after work and bring you whatever you need, if you like?”
Finally, she gave him a faint smile.
“It’s okay, honestly. I’ve been in bed all weekend, trying to sleep it off. I think I’m over the worst of it. I’ll manage.”
He stepped forward, suddenly feeling the urge to show her a degree of affection that would not result in sex. He reached across and placed his hand on hers.
Her skin, although glistening with feverish sweats, was cold to the touch. He instantly wanted to withdraw his hand but fought against it and forced himself to remain in ‘sensitivity mode’ for the sake of harmony within their relationship.
“Well, if you feel like you need to, let me know and I will take you home. I could get that ginger haired freak, young Scott, to bring your car to your house for you. Saves you having to worry about driving it yourself.”
With her insisting that she looked much worse than she actually felt, Matthew headed to his office, feeling pleased with himself that he had shown her a little more than just lust, for a change.
As he sat there, with the TV on, drinking his morning coffee, whilst reading the paper with his feet up on his desk, the news reporters seemed to be speaking of nothing but war, famine, and disease.
Every story seemed to be showing riots and chaos.
He considered switching it over and maybe watching the all-female talk show panel as they discussed current affairs, but in reality, he would really be watching in the hope of catching a glimpse of the host’s shapely legs and behind.
Oh Carol, he smiled to himself as his mind drifted into a particularly pleasant fantasy about the extremely attractive middle-aged female host.
Then, the screen changed and he saw the face of the Prime Minister, looking grave and dishevelled. He was no fan of the Premier and considered him a man unfit even to be a Member of Parliament, never mind the leader of the country, but something told Matthew not to change the channel.
For the next few minutes, he watched and listened, all the while his mouth slowly falling open, wider and wider, as the country’s most senior politician told them of something that was beyond believable.
When the announcement was over, Matthew found himself unable to move from his office chair. He was frozen in time, gaping at the large screen mounted to the far wall and staring at the images of crowds of people rampaging through cities all over the world.
He had heard the Prime Minister’s speech, but his mind was refusing to accept it. It was as though the words, in the context in which they were spoken, were being refused entry into his brain.
As the reality slowly fought its way through the fog within his skull, he blinked, bringing himself out from the trance he had slipped into. Wiping the drool that spilled from his open mouth on the sleeve of his pristine suit jacket, he sat up and reached for his phone.
He scrolled through his contacts list and found his wife’s number. Standing up on unsteady legs and beginning to pace the room, he hit the ‘call’ button.
While the phone rang against his ear, he stepped over to the interior window that looked out over the office floor. Carefully, he parted one of the horizontal blinds with his thumb and forefinger.
Michelle remained at her desk, wearing her thick coat, shivering and sputtering and surrounded by a pile of used tissues.
She has that fucking flu, he concluded to himself.
He looked down at his hand, the one that he had placed on hers, trying to comfort her.
“Fuck,” he exclaimed in a sudden panic and rushed back to his desk.
From the top drawer, he pulled a small bottle of disinfectant hand wash and clasping his mobile phone between his head and shoulder, pressing it to his ear, began to pour the entire contents into the palms of his hands. As he vigorously scrubbed, hoping to kill and remove any trace of the virus, his wife’s phone continued to ring.
By now, he had broken into a sweat and began to feel light headed. He could feel his fear creeping through his body, making its way up his legs and travelling along his spine. He shivered then gritted his teeth, giving himself and emotional shake as he fought to keep his feelings under control.
Get home, get safe, then you can have your mental breakdown, he heard a voice say within the walls of his own head.
“For fuck sake, Emily, answer your fucking phone,” he growled in frustration.
Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, she answered.
She sounded sleepy, probably not long since out of bed and having overslept, again, causing the children to be late for school, again.
He checked his watch. It was coming up to eight-thirty. William and Paula were due to be in school at nine o’clock, and for once, he was grateful that his wife had a habit of repeatedly hitting the ‘snooze’ button on her alarm clock.
“Emily,” he said with relief. “Thank Christ you’re in. Please tell me that the kids haven’t gone to school yet.”
They had not.
“Right, listen to me. Stay in the house and don’t go outside for any reason, okay? For any reason. Do you hear me?”
He paused, allowing her sleepy mind, slowly becoming alarmed at the tone of his voice, to take in what he was instructing her to do.
“Keep the kids in and don’t send them to school. Do you understand?”
She answered that she did and began to ask a number of questions.
“I don’t have time to explain, darlin
g. I’ll be home soon. Turn the telly on and watch the news. Stay inside and keep the doors locked until I get there.”
He hung up and hastily looked around his office, searching for something he could use as a weapon. On the news reels, he had seen and heard how the infected were attacking and killing people.
The announcement of dead people returning to life was still battering away at his stubborn mind, unable to seep in, and at the moment, his thoughts were filled with violent living sick people, attacking anyone that they saw, and not reanimated corpses.
It would be a while before the full reality of the situation would finally hit home.
He picked up a stapler and immediately dropped it to the floor, wondering why he would even consider using it as a weapon in the first place.
Dick-head, he thought.
Finally, his eyes fell upon the old-fashioned wooden hat-stand by the door. He grabbed it and placed it so that it was leaning against the wall at a forty-five degree angle with its base on the floor. He took a step back and raised his leg, his aiming mark being the centre of the stand. With one forceful kick, it snapped in two with a loud crunch.
He grabbed the lower half and planting his feet on the base of the stand, pulled and twisted until it was separated from the lower part of the broken hat-stand. He raised the length of smooth varnished wood up in front of him and inspected it, judging it on its ability to act as a club.
It was heavy and long enough for him to swing and remain out of arms reach of anyone who came near him. It was as good a weapon as he was going to get from the meagre pickings within an office building.
He suddenly remembered that Dave, one of his friends from the opposite side of the building, had a decorative Samurai sword mounted on his wall. The thought was quickly dismissed from his mind. He doubted that it was real and was probably incapable of cutting its way through a wet paper bag.
Also, he did not want to be running about, searching through offices. He wanted to get out, and get home as quickly as possible.