Containment_A Zombie Novel

by B. A. Hippsley

  He snatched the material from her hand, held it between his fingers, then let it slowly drift to the floor. She backed away as he moved out from the room and walked towards her.

  “Honest, I didn’t hear a thing. I swear to you.”

  “Oh, you heard all right. But what can I do to stop you blabbing?”

  “I’m not going to say a thing – please, you gotta believe me.”

  There was no point in playing dumb any longer. All she could do was plead for her life.

  “How dumb do you think I am, you lying broad? I know you got the hots for Eastman. If ‘goody two shoes’ Helen hadn’t come along, you’d have been right in there.”

  As he advanced she stumbled back into the bedroom and tripped onto the hard wooden flooring, hitting her head. He reached down and clasped his fingers tightly around her throat and started to squeeze.

  “You ain’t never gonna tell anyone about this. Do you hear me? Never!”

  As she started to black out, unexpectedly, he let her go and she slid to the floor like a rag doll. She lay on the patchy blue carpet, barely conscious as he bent down and grabbed her by the jaw and looked right into her face.

  “You ever mention this and I’ll feed you to the pigs.” He let her go and made for the bedroom door. “After today there ain’t no place for you anymore.”

  Several seconds later she heard the front door slam and he was gone.

  ****

  Eastman looked up fleetingly at the ladder leading to the ‘fishbowl’ then began his ascent. It wasn’t that heights bothered him; he just preferred to keep away from them. Climbing this far in the near dark and with the wind picking up was nowhere near his idea of fun. But his purpose for seeing Merka had taken on a different slant now. Why hadn’t he responded to Eastman’s calls? It was unlike the guy to cut himself off like that.

  As Eastman reached the top of the ladder he pulled himself onto the balcony and looked out over the darkened landscape. Feeling the evening breeze on his face, Eastman could see why Bill spent so many hours up here. Peace and solitude meant a lot to him also. But it was Bill he’d come to see and so he pushed the reinforced door open and stepped inside.

  Walking into the room he gazed around the space although there was no sign of Bill. Eastman headed for the crew area, calling out to Merka. As he pushed the door open, the room was lit by the screen of a solitary computer on the desk.

  “Don’t you ever lock your front door? Hey Bill.”

  Eastman walked forward and his blood ran cold as the figure in the chair slowly turned to face him. The blank eyes looked right through Eastman, then the familiar growling sound he heard so often filled the room.

  Gradually Merka rose from the chair and edged forward. Even in this light Eastman could see the cause of the transformation. A huge jagged hole had been ripped out of the side of Merka’s neck and part of his scalp had been torn away. Looking at his empty holster, Eastman hoped that at least Bill had put up a fight.

  Eastman drew his weapon. He looked at the shambling monster before him and faltered. What if Anne was right and there was a way back? Could there be a bit of Bill left in all that mess? He was brought back to reality with a howl as the thing sped up and lunged at him. The deafening roar of the 357 Magnum in the enclosed space rang in his ears. At such close range the impact threw the thing backwards crashing into the desk. Eastman looked over at the near decapitated body and replaced his pistol. After what seemed an age he collected his thoughts and went into the other room.

  Apart from Benteen, Merka had been the closest thing to a friend he’d got in the whole town. Merka had been a good man. If Taylor was in anyway responsible for any of this, Eastman would take delight in hunting him down.

  As he opened the door to the balcony he heard the first of several distant explosions. Even a way off, the bangs were strong enough to rattle the windows. Then the night sky near Sam’s place lit up with a kaleidoscope of colour; red, orange and even green and blue flames flying into the night sky. Then abruptly the tower was plunged into darkness, as if someone had hit the light switch. Eastman looked towards the town, but Armstrong was nowhere to be seen.

  ****

  Harper opened the last can of beef from his ration pack. It was close to 21:00 hours and he could hardly wait to stand down. It had been a long watch with zilch to report, which was probably just as well. It was still mind-numbing. He looked at the other members of the team: Dodge, Smithy and the new kid, Ford. They were covering the road approaching the camp. There were two other checkpoints but Harper’s team were the furthest from the camp. Apart from the green phantom-like images produced from their night vision, they were surrounded by the black velvet shroud of night. They had a ton of firepower but that only worked if you could see the target.

  Dodge was resting his elbows on the hood of the Humvee, scanning the area in front of them with his binoculars. Dodge was from back East, they all were, even the new kid. Harper had known Dodge and Smithy from the start, they’d gone through the unit selection and been thrown into the same squad. He was smart for a big guy, no Einstein, but he got by. Then there was Smithy. What could you say about him? He was the kinda guy that only a mother could love and now he was doing that thing with his nose again.

  “Hey Smithy, you want to eat something green, then eat the damn peas,” Harper called crossly.

  Dodge swung around. “He ain’t doing that thing again? Oh, gross man.”

  “Hey you, face the God damn front. You’re supposed to be watching for them, not me.”

  Smithy got to his feet and switched on his night vision. “Hold the fort you bums, I’m gonna take a leak.” He started down the road to a nearby cluster of trees. Harper could not resist the temptation. “Mind they don’t bite it off Smithy.”

  “All right, already!” He stormed back to the group and sat away from the others.

  “Aw, you done it now Harper. He’ll sit like that all damn night now.”

  “Do you think there’s any of them out there?”

  Harper looked at Ford. He’d seen kids like this before; hell he wasn’t too different from him. Except at his age Harper had been doing his best to keep from getting wasted or serving time. This kid was far from dumb.

  “Who knows? But that’s how Landon got it.”

  “I heard about that. What happened?” Ford clutched his M16 and looked at Harper.

  “One minute everything was clear then the next, two zombies come outta nowhere and bit his fingers off.”

  “Okay, enough of the spooky stories already.” Smithy moved and sat in the middle of the group. “But you can’t die from that, right?”

  Dodge called over his shoulder. “It’s enough. That’s all it takes, kid. You get the bug and it’s no more PX for you.”

  “See, what I don’t get is why these dummies just don’t take off?”

  Remarks like this were why Smithy was regarded as a klutz. Harper viewed the other man with despair.

  “The only way outta of this hole is blocked by that pile of rock we made the other day.”

  “Sure, but these kinda people always got four-by-fours. So why don’t they just use them?”

  Harper had also thought about that, but fair play to the kid, that was one hell of a good point. After they’d brought the hill down and shut the road he’d imagined the potentials taking off through the mountain tracks. But they hadn’t.

  “Who knows kid?” Dodge shrugged his shoulders and rasied his eyebrows.

  “It’s their town, why should they run? We’d stay and fight.”

  Harper looked at Dodge; was it just about turf? Back in his ‘hood,’ Harper had fought to keep the gang’s turf clear. He’d never thought about what others felt about their turf. That made sense.

  “Whatever. But why aren’t people trying to get into that town?”

  “Cause kid, Labrinski and his crew got a ten-ton road-roller and a stop sign.”

  Exasperated, Ford flung his arms into the night air. “Which means?�
�

  Harper put his empty can into a bag and looked at Ford.

  “How many times you come across a bunch of dudes in hard hats and a stop sign with the road up? And who the hell would argue with them?”

  It was the perfect cover, some guys with a hole in the road. It was the kind of thing people were used to seeing; who would take the slightest bit of notice? A tank made for a persuasive roadblock, but it came low down in the stealth stakes. This type of mission wasn’t about flags or medals, nor was it the sort of thing you told your grandchildren about. They all knew that heroic deeds would not be written about Operation Viking.

  “Okay, what we gonna do with this place now we got it?”

  Harper sat on his pack and opened an energy drink before answering Ford.

  “Nothing. We don’t want it. The place is about to be overrun by a herd of cannibal freaks. All we gotta do is stop them escaping.”

  “Yeah, I managed to work that out all on my own. But what happens now?”

  “They’re just as likely to nuke the whole damn lot.”

  Smithy got up and walked over to Dodge and took his place on watch. “Yeah right, sure they will.”

  Harper got up, let out a huge yawn, stretched his arms and moved over to Ford.

  “If any of them potentials get out and they’re infected, they could eat their way through New Jersey.”

  “Well that’s not any great loss.”

  “Hey, watch your mouth, you bum. I got people in New Jersey.”

  Dodge waved his finger at Smithy and scowled.

  “Whoever said potentials were smart?” Harper laughed, shaking his head.

  “What in hell’s a potential, anyways?”

  “If there’s an infection or something like Ebola, that kinda thing, then individuals have the ‘potential’ to become infected.”

  Ford took a long look at Harper.

  “So what about us are we potentials?”

  Harper frowned and rubbed his eyebrow. This kid was getting too smart; soon he’d be able to wipe his own butt.

  “That’s why we got M16’s and razor wire.”

  Dodge nodded his support. “Not to mention the nukes of course.”

  “Wyllie says the whole town’s gone nuts. Nuke the freaking lot, I say.”

  The brass had withdrawn them for a reason. That reason looked to be pretty damn obvious and it worried Harper.

  “You don’t want to listen to him. Sergeant Rai says the town’s fighting back.”

  “Wyllie’s done alright by us and he’s...”

  “Come off it Smithy, those people in that barn. That was freaking murder.”

  “What happened?” Ford looked at Harper for an explanation but Dodge interrupted.

  “Hey guys, I heard that Stone was spitting blood at losing that prisoner. Who’d you think he was, Harper?”

  Harper had been up close to the guy and he’d had military written all over his mug. Perhaps he was some type of rogue Black Ops or something. Who could tell? But the General had gone ape. This dude was important but Harper couldn’t fit him into a picture.

  “Okay, so if they want to zap the town, how the hell you gonna cover something like that up? It’s too big.”

  “You still on about that crap kid.” Smithy shook his head.

  “Damn right I am. You’re on about killing hundreds, maybe thousands. Or didn’t you bunch work that out yet?”

  “Look kid, they can write a cover story better than any Hollywood movie.”

  Harper swatted an insect on his face before continuing.

  “They don’t use nukes, they use a kinda firebomb. You can bet your bottom dollar that some PR team has already written the ‘day after’ headlines. Something like; a terrorist attack, plane crash or red neck’s moonshine factory explodes. You get the picture.”

  Once it was done it was done, too late to cry about it then. Harper knew that was the way it operated. The cops were always pulling stuff like that; they’d bust you and then think something up later. This whole thing was being run by the US Army; they could do what they wanted and get away with it. Harper looked at Ford, even with the limits of night vision he could tell the kid was shaken. “Cheer up kid. At least we don’t have to push the button.”

  “Yeah we’re just doing as we’re told, ain’t that it guys?”

  Ford looked at Smithy and slowly shook his head.

  “Yeah, we’re just doing as we’re told, right. Reminds me of what those Syrians said when the SEALs took out that torture place.”

  Dodge pointed at Ford and waved his finger at him. “We’re doing it to save lives.”

  “Why don’t you tell that to the people down there?” Ford got up and moved towards Smithy to take up his turn at watch.

  ****

  Eastman’s headlights sliced through the inky black night as his police lights bounced about the deserted streets. The sound of Benteen’s voice sounded distorted as it drifted through the open window of the car. He was warning people to remain calm and stay indoors. Eastman let a faint smile cross his face as he recalled the last time they’d used the PA system. Someone had forgotten to switch the thing off, subjecting half the town to Benteen singing ‘Silent Night.’ With all that had gone on that week Eastman knew all too well that the town was sitting on a powder keg.

  In the distance he could make out the headlights of the mobile patrols as they prowled around the town. Luckily Clara had kept him posted on the developments after the explosions; he knew what to expect. He was thankful the curfew had kept people safely indoors, and the tannoy had further discouraged any sightseers. The town needed lights and fast if they wanted to keep a lid on things. Langley and O’Brien had joined forces with some of the power company guys to get things up and running.

  The tyres of his car ground nosily on the tarmac, as he turned into McNally’s Drive only two blocks away from the station house. Eastman could make out the homely glow from the emergency lighting. The health center also had power, thanks to Anne spending money on over-hauling the ancient generators.

  He switched the annoying static of his radio down then braked hard. Parked across the single lane was Murray Scott’s truck, the driver’s door wide open. The vehicle was left in such a way, it was impossible to pass. Eastman cursed loudly and gave a blast of his siren. Of all the times to block the damn road, he thought. What a moron. He gave another blast, then angrily got out and walked towards the truck.

  As he drew level with the driver’s door, Eastman warily looked inside the cab. Suddenly he heard the crack of a pistol shot followed by a high pitch whine. The side window disintegrated into showers of glass. Eastman threw himself against the side of the vehicle and drew his sidearm. The shot had come from the other side of the street and judging by the angle, from the roof-tops. Fortunately, the shooter was the other side of the vehicle.

  “Ceasefire you mutton heads! It’s me, Eastman.”

  He waited for the awkward apology but two more shots ripped into the driver’s side of the truck.

  “Alright, I said it’s me, you dumb son of a...”

  Two more bullets hit the truck and this time they were thirty eights. Now there was a second shooter. What the hell was wrong with these guys? They must have heard him yell out. Then it dawned on him. They weren’t shooting at him because they didn’t know who it was; they were shooting because they did know. This was now a whole new ballgame and there was only one man who’d be fired up to try this.

  “Peter Firth. I’m gonna give you the opportunity to lay down your weapons and after that I’m gonna come and take them. You hear me?”

  Although the muzzle flashes had shown him roughly where the gunmen were, it was impossible to target the exact position in the dark. Two more shots from the thirty-eight signalled to Eastman that this gunman was working his way around the rear of the truck. If Eastman wasn’t careful they’d catch him in a cross-fire. He still had the option to move to the front of the truck if the thirty-eight guy got around the back. Or take h
is chances in the gloomy streets.

  The main problem was that the squad car’s headlights lit Eastman up like a rabbit. Any movement beyond the darkened side of the truck could well be his last. He heard someone scuttle across roof tiles somewhere to the rear of the truck, but they weren’t in place to take a shot at him, or he them. The last thing Eastman wanted was a gun battle in the street. Looking into the dazzling lights of his car made it impossible for accurate fire. Damn!

  Then the sound of a large bore rifle ripped through the still night air and smashed through the truck’s windshield. That was it; he was now surrounded by three assailants and no place to run. Two rounds in quick succession followed by a cry of pain evened the score, as one of the gunmen fell to the sidewalk. The shots had come from a 9mm, somewhere to the left of the truck. It had to be Benteen.

  “What took you so long you great lump?” Eastman called, relieved.

  The unfortunate rifleman sent another round into the night only to meet the same fate. Eastman heard the weapon clatter down the roof until it smashed onto a parked car. That left the guy with the thirty-eight to deal with. At that moment Eastman got lucky; he caught sight of a shadowy figure on Alec Bushes’ roof. It was a long shot, but he took careful aim and sent a 357 round crashing into his target. The man yelled in agony as the heavy round tore into his shoulder and sent him flying off the roof.

  Eastman heard the sound of trash-cans being up-skittled as the man hit the ground, followed by receding footsteps as he made his getaway. Eastman scanned the area for Benteen then detected a figure walking towards him, silhouetted in the squad car’s beams. He shielded his eyes and squinted in the harsh light as the figure got closer.

  “We just gotta stop meeting like this Eastman.”

  It was Brent Taylor. Eastman looked down to see a 9mm pistol aimed at his chest.

  Chapter – Twenty-One

  Mary Firth was sitting in the total darkness of her front room. It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself without electricity; the Power Company got pretty mad when you didn’t pay the bill. However, this time things were different. This time the whole town was off. Perhaps she should’ve been scared, being on her own at a time like this, but she wasn’t. It was almost as if the darkness gave her protection, a form of anonymity. She could watch the town but the town couldn’t see her. She brought her knees up to her chest and took another sip of beer. Booze was something she never did; too many years of seeing the effect it had on Peter was enough. Tonight was an exception. She’d a feeling that something was about to happen.