The Z Infection

by Russell Burgess

His voice was tense and strained.

  ‘Not good,’ he said grimly. ‘I’m afraid the offices are cut off. The area was overrun about three hours ago. There’s no way out at the moment.’

  ‘The government are telling people in the infected areas to stay where they are,’ I said, hopefully. ‘They say they will be regaining control soon.’

  He was quiet now, as he often was before he delivered something he thought you didn’t want to hear.

  ‘I’m not certain that will happen any time soon,’ he said finally. ‘My contact in Whitehall tells me that the situation is grim and that they are unlikely to be able to resolve it as quickly as they had first hoped. You might be better off trying to get out, if you can.’

  I looked out of the window at the dead firefighters and police officers lying in the street where they had fallen. If they had been so easily overcome, what chance would I have?

  ‘I’m not sure I can make it,’ I said.

  He was silent again, this time for much longer.

  ‘I’m going to remain here,’ he said at last. ‘I have a duty to get as much information to the public as possible. I can’t tell you what to do, but if you are safe where you are then I think you should stay there for as long as possible. I’ll stay in contact with you for as long as I can.’

  We spoke for a few more minutes before he said he had to go and take another telephone call. When the line went dead I held the phone to my chest for a long time. It was the only contact I had with what was going on outside and it might be a while before we would talk again.

  When I finally got back in the game I laid the phone on the table and began to organise myself. Sleep would have to wait. If I had to stay here for any length of time I would need to be ready to face a lot of challenges. I checked the flat. It was small but it had the advantage of having an en suite shower in the bedroom as well as a bathroom. I filled the bath to the brim with cold water, not knowing if the supply would last. Then I checked the kitchen and all the cupboards.

  I removed every scrap of food I could find and laid it out on the table. She didn’t each much, my friend, I thought. There were two tins of baked beans, three tins of soup and two tins of chick peas. Not a great start. Added to that there were two full bags of pasta shapes, some spaghetti, two tins of chopped tomatoes, half a loaf of bread, half a bag of rice and a pot noodle. There were also all the usual things like spices and tea bags, instant coffee and some hot chocolate.

  In the freezer I found a pizza, some burgers and a tub of something I couldn’t make out. It might have been a leftover curry. In any case there wasn’t a lot of food. A quick calculation told me it might last me a fortnight, but that was if I was really careful and rationed myself. Who was I kidding? I was a lousy cook and a wasteful eater. I would have to find more.

  The only thing I could think of, was to check the other flats in the building. On this landing there were three more. Then there was a landing above and two below. That should give me fifteen flats to check. But what if some of those things had managed to find a way in? What if the people in those flats hadn’t fled? What if they too had turned? My mind was filled with a lot of questions and very few answers.

  I had to make a decision and I came to it quickly. I would need a weapon.

  Kareef Hadad

  04:00 hours, Saturday 16th May, Central London

  Saeed had a small radio in the kitchen of his restaurant and we listened to it every hour, on the hour. The government warnings were to stay indoors and not to approach anyone whom you suspected of being infected. The problem, we were told, was a fast spreading virus which was incredibly contagious. It was spread by bites and scratches and possibly by contact with infected blood. Rumours of it being airborne, we were told, were unfounded and the best minds in the country were working around the clock to develop a vaccine.

  Sophie had been quiet since we had seen the woman killed earlier. She had gone to another part of the restaurant and sat down on the floor. She hadn’t slept much since. None of us had.

  Around sunrise I heated some chicken curry from a box I had found in the kitchen and took it to her, with a piece of nan bread.

  ‘Curry for breakfast?’ she asked. ‘This is a first.’

  ‘Eat it,’ I said. ‘We don’t know when we might get something else. There’s quite a bit of food here, but we could be discovered and have to run at any moment.’

  She knew I was right. I joined her on the floor and we ate in silence, using the bread to mop up the sauce.

  ‘Saeed didn’t mean what he said last night,’ I told her. I explained that he was different from her, and actually quite different from me. His family were devout Moslems, unlike mine, and they strictly adhered to their faith. No alcohol, no pork and anyone who didn’t believe as they did, was an infidel as far as they were concerned. It was the way they were.

  ‘But he owns this place,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t mind serving the infidels and non-believers. That makes him a hypocrite.’

  I was stumped at that. I couldn’t explain it any better to her. Saeed was as he was. Nothing was going to change him. Not even the end of the world. He and his family would accept whatever was happening as the will of God. It was a million miles away from what I had been brought up with. My father had turned his back on the faith years before, when my mother had been taken from him in an accident. He had drummed it into me, from a young age, that you made your own way in life and there was no all-seeing deity guiding you along a certain path. I still believed in God, despite what had happened to my mother, but I was more realistic about what he could do for me. It was something I was now teaching my own child.

  My thoughts turned to my family once more. They hadn’t been far from my mind since the previous day, but it had been impossible to contact them. The house phone had gone to answer machine every time I called it, until it was full and couldn’t take any more. My wife’s mobile phone kept telling me the caller couldn’t answer right now. I wondered if she ever would. What had happened to them?

  I was shaken from my thoughts by Saeed, who crawled along the floor to us.

  ‘There are more coming in this direction,’ he whispered, his voice creaking with fear.

  ‘We should remain quiet,’ I said. ‘Let’s hope they pass us by.’

  We waited for almost an hour as the mass of bodies shuffled past the restaurant, some of them occasionally stopping to look through windows, others checking for food wherever they thought some might be. I swear one of them tried the door handle, but it was locked and he moved on soon enough.

  When we were sure they had all passed by, Saeed crawled back to the window and took a look outside. He turned back and gave us the thumbs up.

  ‘Looks like they’ve all gone. The ghost is clear.’

  Poor Saeed. It was either a supremely poor grasp of the English language or a terrible line in jokes. Whichever it was we never found out.

  As he moved to come back towards us, he knocked his leg against a table. A glass, which was perched near the edge, was dislodged and fell to the floor. Before Saeed could react it had smashed with, what sounded in the silence, a tremendous crash.

  He looked at me, aghast at his error. My face must have told him a story too, but I wasn’t looking at him anymore. At the window were at least six faces, all with the same look etched into their features. They had found us.

  Sophie Westerly

  04:58 hours, Saturday 16th May, Central London

  I was almost frozen with fear for the second time in less than a day. And it was the second time in less than a day that Kareef saved my life.

  ‘On your feet,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving now.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ protested Saeed.

  But we weren’t listening to him any longer. We were running through the seating area of the restaurant, Kareef dragging me to the rear entrance. Behind us, as we ran, I could hear that wail those things made. I had heard it before. They were calling others to the source of food. Fucking hell that was c
reepy. If there was one thing about them that I would never get used to, it was that. Every time I heard it the hairs would stand up on my neck and arms. They are standing up now, just thinking about it.

  We ran through the kitchen, hearing the sound of breaking glass behind us as they smashed their way through the windows and door. Then we heard another sound. It was Saeed, screaming. We both stopped for a moment.

  ‘Do you want to go back for him?’ Kareef asked.

  I only thought about it for a second.

  ‘Fuck that,’ I said. ‘Run.’

  Thomas Buckle

  05:25 hours, Saturday 16th May, East London

  In the morning I was awake early. I switched on the television and watched the news as I munched my way through a bowl of corn flakes. It was the same depressing story as we had been given the day before, only much worse.

  The government assured us that things would soon be back to normal again. Normal? How was anything ever going to be normal again after this? Footage from a helicopter showed the battle of New Scotland Yard, as it was coming to be known. I had already seen part of the report, as it had happened, but I watched the entire story again, with total fascination as the building burned and people were attacked and pushed back by the ravenous horde. I watched with a growing aversion as those, who were trapped by the attackers, flung themselves from the upper floors and roof rather than be mutilated and eaten alive. It was stomach-turning and when it was over I went into the garden and puked.

  Once I had recovered I went back to my preparations. Part of my plan was to check the neighbouring houses for anyone who was still there. I checked the houses on either side first. I knew my neighbours pretty well, having lived in the street for almost twenty years, but I still would never have walked into their homes without an invite. Yesterday had changed the rules though. I knew I didn’t have time to waste.

  I knocked on the first door. No answer. I knocked again. Still nothing. I tried the handle and it opened. Obviously they had left in an enormous hurry. Inside it was a mess. They had tipped out drawers in every room, grabbing for valuables and whatever they thought might be of use. I checked the kitchen cupboards. There were a few tins and some dried food so I took them and put them in a large sack I had taken from my garage.

  I went through every room as quickly as I could, but with as much thoroughness as I could manage, taking whatever seemed useful. A pair of binoculars was a real find. A Swiss Army knife, which I found in another room, could be invaluable.

  Once I had been through the house I moved to the other next door neighbour. Again there was no answer but this time the door was locked. I shoved it with my shoulder but it wouldn’t budge. I kicked it once or twice and then decided against it as it was making too much noise.

  Making my way around the back I found the garden gate was slightly ajar. I walked through and to the back door. Again this was locked and again it was going to be too noisy breaking in. I decided to visit some of the other houses. My rule became simple. Knock on the door. If someone told me to go away then I would leave. If there was no answer and the door was unlocked, I would go in and take whatever I wanted. If the door was locked I moved on.

  I did this routine on twenty houses in the street. Not one person was at home and more than half the houses had at least one door left unlocked. It was a burglar’s paradise and by the end of the morning the sack was full of food and other items.

  I was carrying it back to my house, pleased with my morning’s work, when I suddenly became very aware of the sense that I was being followed. I suddenly felt frightened. It was the first time that day. The memories of the day before still filled me with dread and I didn’t want to look around. I quickened my pace. Whatever was behind me quickened pace too. I could hear the panting of its breath.

  I turned a corner and started to run. It started running too. My God, I thought, this is the end. If these things can run then I’m dead. I had worked on the theory that they were too slow and that even I, in my advanced stage of being unfit, would be able to stay one step ahead. Not so.

  I was suddenly tripped and fell headlong into a hedge. It was on me in a second, licking me and. Hang on. It was licking me? I opened my eyes and came face to face with a dog. Not just any dog, of course, as I would find out in time.

  He was a Golden Retriever, fresh faced and furry. He couldn’t have been more than about a year old and he licked at my face enthusiastically, obviously delighted to have some company. I checked for a collar, hoping he might have a name, but he wasn’t wearing one.

  Why, I thought, would someone leave a beautiful dog like this behind? Then it dawned on me. They would have had limited space. Their kids and food and valuables would have been the first things to go in the car. By the time they were packed they probably realised they didn’t have any room for the family pet. I imagined it must have been a heart breaking decision to leave him behind, but here he was.

  I guessed he was hungry so I fished in the bag and found a packet of chicken slices. I opened it in front of his eager face and gave him a slice. It didn’t touch the sides. I gave him another and it went the same way. In the end I gave him the whole lot and he scoffed every last morsel. I resolved to find some dog food for him as my next job. I couldn’t afford to give him my food, no matter how charming he was.

  We strolled back to my house, the best of friends already. I imagined my wife waiting there for me, a big grin on her round face, telling me stories about how she had escaped from the hospital, but when I arrived there the house was as empty as I had left it.

  Xiaofan Li

  06:15 hours, Saturday 16th May, Chinatown, Central London

  When I had first seen those ones in the street I almost cried out in fright. But a year of living rough had taught me a lot of things. One of the most important was never to show fear, no matter how much you felt it.

  That had kicked in almost at once. I regained my composure and walked quickly away from them. They were slow moving things. I could have ran, but I decided I would keep my strength for when I might really need it. There would come a time I guessed, and I was proved right many times, when I would have no other option but to run.

  I turned off the main street about a hundred yards further down. Here, once I was sure it was safe, I broke into a jog. It didn’t take long to leave them far behind me. I could hear them wailing and groaning in the distance, probably angry at losing a meal.

  Two more turns and they were out of sight. Even though my heart was pounding I stopped and forced myself to relax a little. I did a full minute of meditation, counting my breaths as I had been taught as a child, trying to calm my mind and body.

  It worked. My heart rate returned to normal. My body was back to its original factory pre-set. Pity the rest of me was so fucked up. I jogged another couple of blocks and checked behind me every few seconds as I went. They weren’t following any more. Perhaps they could only act on sight and sound, I thought. Whatever? I was glad they were gone.

  It’s not really too far from Holborn to Chinatown. I was used to these streets and I would often take a wander to the fringes of the Chinese community, although I never ventured down the street where my father’s restaurant was.

  Despite the close proximity it took a lot longer than it would normally have and it was hours later before I was on the edge of Leicester Square. It looked like a battlefield. Hundreds of corpses lay scattered around. Men, women and children. Nobody had been spared. It had been a massacre.

  I was scanning the square, trying to make some sense of what I was seeing, when I suddenly heard another sound. A helicopter appeared overhead and I instinctively ducked into a shop doorway to avoid it.

  It was a police one. It circled the scene for a few moments, before heading off to the north. They must have been looking for the infected, I thought. They might be plotting their movements using helicopters. Whatever they were doing I didn’t want them to see me. I don’t know why, but I just wanted to be on my own and do my own thing.
I felt safer that way. Certainly the hundreds of dead in Leicester Square hadn’t been saved by being in a crowd.

  I skirted the edge of the square, past the Odeon cinema, where another pile of dead bodies lay at the front doors. It looked like they had been trying to get in, perhaps looking for a safe place to hide, when they had been trapped and slaughtered where they stood. Once I got to the other side I slipped down a lane which I knew would take me to Lisle Street. From there I hugged the buildings as I walked down to Wardour Street and then along a short distance to Gerrard Street.

  It was deathly quiet here. There was a stench in the air, however. One which was becoming familiar as the dead began to decay in the streets. I covered my mouth with my scarf and carried on.

  At Gerrard Street I took a glance around the corner. Again it was empty. Just a few bodies here. I could hardly believe how I was beginning to think. This previous morning I would have been horrified to have seen one dead body. Now there were thousands littering the streets and I was taking it in my stride.

  I jogged up the street until I came to the opening on the left hand side, where the London Chinese Association has its offices. I paused there. I hadn’t been this close to home in a year, but the urge to make sure my family were safe spurred me on.

  I’m not sure what I expected to find that evening. I should have guessed that my father and brother would have fled with the rest of the community, but I had a nagging feeling that the stubborn old fool would be determined to stand his ground and battle for what was his. He was a fighter, after all. Many times I had seen him chase a gang of youths out of the restaurant, a meat cleaver in his hand, hurling his few choice English swear words at them as they ran. He hadn’t ever grasped English. He had always said he didn’t need it. He lived and worked in the Chinese community. Most of his customers were Chinese and his children could speak fluent English, so it didn’t matter. In the end he always planned to retire back to Hong Kong in any case.

  I crept along the street and to the front door of his restaurant. There I paused, listening for any sounds of danger. It was quiet. I tried the door and it opened. Silently I sneaked through and into the main part of the restaurant. It was dark and empty.