Necropolis (Necropolis Trilogy Book 3)

by Sean Deville

  “Please, please come in. Sit down,” Shah said, moving some papers off one of the only other seats in the room. He stood up, his body filled with nervous excitement. “Can I get you something to drink? We have some coffee left if you like.”

  “No, thanks. I was hoping we could get straight down to business.”

  “Of course, glad to.” He turned and rummaged around on his desk until he found a red manila folder and held it out to her. “This is everything I learnt in my examination of the test subject.” Lucy took the folder and sat down on the offered seat. She placed the folder to one side.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you found?”

  “Yes,” Shah said. There was nothing he liked better than to talk about his work, even when the wolf was right at the door.

  The two scientists shared what they knew with each other. The virus could be passed through bodily fluids and via bodily contact. Some people were carriers, passing the disease to others without showing symptoms themselves. It infected humans and animals alike. Dr. Shah was amazed to learn from Savage how other victims became changed by the virus, to the extent that they seemed to retain their sense of self whilst gaining inhuman powers. From her laptop, Savage had shown him the 3D model Durand had created of the virus, which is where they had learnt it was different to the virus carried by Gavin Hemsworth. It was definitely from the same family, but the differences were there.

  “I suspect what you have been dealing with is an earlier version,” Savage said. “The dogs we encountered when we raided the secret laboratory were probably the result of earlier experiments.” She pulled up another file. The laptop was on Shah’s desk and they were both looking at it as she used her finger to run the mouse pad. “I think it might explain this.”

  The picture on the screen was from a high-definition surveillance camera from the NATO headquarters. She had managed to extract the data from NATO’s secure servers before the network became unreliable. It showed the face of the infected individual who had attacked General Bradstone. The eyes were clearly white.

  “There are other reports on the system of attackers with no pigmentation in their eyes. From what I can gather, the infection now spreading across the world seemed to occur in multiple countries at the same time, and all the infected had a similar presentation. What do you think it means?”

  “Lucy, I’m just a teacher.” Shah was a very humble person, always had been. Even when he had worked hard and achieved his PhD, it was more to do with luck than anything else in his mind. He was astonished that a woman of Lucy Savage’s reputation was asking his opinion.

  “You sell yourself short. Tell me what you think.” She smiled at him reassuringly. He hesitated, looked at the screen, looked back at her.

  “It’s a different virus. Assuming it’s not an aberration.” In response to that, Savage clicked through the folder that held this image, showing multiple images. They all showed infected with white eyes.

  “When we spoke to the guy who created the virus…”

  “What, you spoke to him?” Shah interrupted in astonishment.

  “Yeah, right before he killed himself. When we spoke to him, he said he would kill the world. I’m thinking what we are seeing here in this video is what he was talking about. But there’s something else.” Savage closed down the pictures and opened up a video file. They both watched in stunned silence until it ended. “The thing is, I know him,” she said.

  The video had been taken by cameras on the French-Belgium border about ten hours before. It had been the last thing she had been able to salvage from her data link before she lost her connection completely. It showed a battle, one man against the infected. That man had been Fabrice. Savage recognised him from her time in the MI6 building. It was hard to forget him, and she watched in silence as he waded through dozens of infected, laying waste to them.

  “You might have heard about the incident when we arrived,” Savage said. Shah nodded, nervousness in his eyes. He had been one of only two civilians before the newcomer’s arrival, and even with everything that had been happening, he was still shocked to hear about the merciless execution. “Well, the man who was shot was called Victor Durand, and he is responsible for that.” Savage pointed at the screen. “Don’t feel bad, we did you a favour. If Durand was here now, he would be ordering you about like you were his slave.”

  “What do you mean responsible?” Shah ignored the attempt at humour.

  “The man you see on the screen was one of the original terrorists that spread the virus around London. He was being held in the MI6 building and Durand took it upon himself to experiment with the virus. Durand deliberately infected him.”

  “I can’t say I feel bad about that, considering…”

  “I would feel the same,” Savage said. “But the experiment had an unexpected result. This thing is not your typical infected, as you’ve probably guessed. He can speak and the virus has somehow made him invulnerable. I’ve seen him take a gunshot to the abdomen without getting so much as a scratch. I can’t explain it, but there it is.”

  “That’s incredible,” Shah said. His thoughts went back to Gavin, the immune carrier he had left strapped up to the bed in the hospital. Apart from his infectiveness, the man had seemed perfectly normal.

  “Some people don’t get the disease, but the virus seems to change them. Croft thinks there are others like them, all enhanced with powers beyond our understanding. In a way, though, we’re lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Shah was shocked, how could she say such a thing. “How can we be lucky?”

  “Because this video was taken from the European mainland. Which means at the moment, we only have to face the supernatural rather than the superhuman.”

  08.46AM GMT, 21st September 2015, Ghent, Belgium

  They had been led east by Rachel who did not want to take her forces south into France. Fabrice guessed why, the radiation from the French nuking their own cities. Whilst Fabrice and the undead were likely immune, there was no telling how it would affect the infected who still had a degree of vulnerability. Plus, the chances of finding anyone alive in the radioactive atmosphere would be slim at best. It was on that eastern forced march that they first encountered the infected controlled by the Overmind.

  Fabrice had been sensing the other presence with growing dread and alarm because it represented an unknown that he couldn’t understand. The other Horsemen, despite their flaws, had seemed…appropriate. But this other presence, there was something stagnant about it, almost malevolent. He could feel it in his mind, but could not communicate with it, not yet. And despite his best efforts, Rachel would not speak to him about it. Every request for information was just met with a blank thought and a command to move on. All Fabrice knew was that whatever this mind was, it was growing more powerful by the minute and controlled a different kind of infected.

  It was on the French-Belgium border that he first encountered the species with the white eyes. Both sides had known the other was there, and Fabrice had been sent in, his invulnerability about to be tested. In a small border town abandoned by humans, he had been confronted by two dozen of what were now the enemy. He had no doubts they were the rival for human souls, because the first thing they had done when they had seen him was to attack. A pointless assault considering, but even as he ripped them to pieces, they continued their violence. They were relentless in the face of his superiority, and one by one, he removed them from existence.

  The last one, a female who had once dressed in the finest of clothes he pinned to the ground by the neck with his left hand. Slowly, he had drawn back his right, seeing the venom in those colourless eyes and prepared to smash his fist through its skull.

  “Wait,” Rachel’s voice said in his mind. “Wait and see.” At first, Fabrice didn’t understand why, but he followed her orders because she knew things that he couldn’t explain or understand. So on his knees, he held the squirming foe down against the harsh roads surface, her energy never diminishing. Then he saw it, saw what R
achel wanted him to see. The body beneath him convulsed, writhed and bucked. And then the eyes turned red, and the mind below him opened up to his thoughts. Another sinner brought into the fold. Halleluiah.

  Fabrice had been sent in because he was not only impenetrable to damage, but his skin meant he was immune to all contagion. He, however, shed the virus all across his body, more so that the average infected, almost emitting it into the very air around him. Rachel did not understand what the Overmind was, didn’t understand why she even knew of its existence, but the intuition told her to test, and test she had. Fabrice had proven that the Overmind’s soldiers, whilst strong, were no match for her infected. The virus coursing through her veins, although similar was superior, and in the battle that had ensued on the microbiological level, her virus had defeated that of the Overmind. This was the information she had wanted to know. This was the information she had NEEDED to know, and with a roar, she had ordered her pet to unleash her infected army. To the ever-growing legions of the Overmind, she gave a name, or was it more correct that a name merely popped into her head? No matter, the result was just the same. From that moment forth, she named them “The Lesser.”

  Fabrice now stood surrounded by his own infected. In the distance, he could sense Rachel and the other two Horsemen and the ever-growing army of the undead. Belgium was already in disarray, the Overmind having taken out much of the defences in its first wave, the humans now either in flight or in hiding. The army of the Horsemen stood on the threshold of Brussels, a city burning, a city lost. It was a metropolis swarming with the Lesser and the remnants of humanity. Both would become one with the true collective. The plan was clear, sweep across the city with what now numbered close to five hundred thousand infected. Fabrice would lead his legion in a rampage that would make the Gods weep, infecting everything they found. No killing, no quarter, no mercy. All would fall before Gods mighty hand, and the usurper, the pretender, would be swallowed up with them.

  09.12AM, 21st September 2015, Headland Hotel, Newquay

  “I don’t think we need to worry about rank anymore, do you? Call me David, or Croft. Hell, call me whatever the fuck you like, it doesn’t matter anymore,” Croft said. The man who was saluting him hesitated and dropped his hand. Instead, he stuck it out for Croft to shake. Croft took it, his hand swallowed up in the immense bulk. “Easy, mate, I need to use that.”

  “Sorry si… David. They call me Bull.” Bull generally didn’t like officers; he usually found them stuck up prats, and Bull didn’t like people who spent most of their time up their own backsides. Others he found he could easily intimidate by his bulk which made them weak in his eyes, and thus not worthy of being granted their officer rank. Authority didn’t come from physical size, it came from your character, it came from within, and Bull did not tolerate fools gladly. The man shaking his hand was different. He had a character that Bull could respect, he could see it instantly. For the first time in his military career, Bull actually felt he was amongst equals. I mean, for fuck’s sake, half the people here were SAS, anyone of them could give Bull a run for his money.

  “Really? I have no idea why.” Bull laughed at that. Croft turned to the younger lad stood next to Bull. “And you are?”

  “Jack.” Croft put his hand out and Jack hesitated for a moment before shaking it. “I’m not in the Army though,” Jack said apologetically.

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” Croft said. “So it shouldn’t matter to you.”

  “What do you need, Dave?” Bull asked. Hudson had told him to give the major whatever he needed.

  “I need to see how you intend to defend this place. And I also need to see what you have in the way of vehicles, because there’s a good chance we will need to bug out of here at some point.”

  “Then follow me,” the huge sergeant said with a smile. Croft and Jack did as he asked.

  “Bulldogs. Excellent.” Croft stood before the five vehicles that were parked down the side of the hotel. These were ideal for what they might need. The armoured personnel carriers could carry a total of twelve people each if you counted the driver, so they had more than enough transport for those that were left in the hotel. The only problem was they had nowhere to go. The engine of one of them was open, and a man in Army fatigues was bent inside. There was the sound of a torque wrench being used furiously.

  “Fucking bastard piece of Army shit,” an enraged voice said from within the bowels of the machine.

  “Private Fairgood, front and centre,” Bull roared. Croft watched with mild amusement as the man trying to fix one of the armoured personnel carriers jumped in surprise, clearly banging his head. The man emerged rubbing his head vigorously, and did his best to stand to attention.

  “At ease, Private,” Croft said. Sergeants knew when men still needed standing over. If Bull felt now was still the time to enforce Army discipline, Croft wasn’t going to argue. “What is the status of this vehicle?”

  “Fucked, sir,” Fairgood said looking off into this distance, his hands behind his back. “It’s the fuel line, keeps leaking, sir.”

  “Carry on,” Croft said, the private turning back to the task at hand. The major turned to Bull. “I want you to get ready for an evac. Have the four working APCs kitted out and allocate space in each for the survivors here. I’ll give you a list of names from our lot.” As Croft moved to walk away, another curse came from within the APC.

  “Jesus fucking Mary and fucking Joseph.”

  10.17AM GMT, 21st September 2015, Unknown

  The Creator had found him. The streams of data had initially looked corrupted, but that had just been due to the hack into the system. There he was as plain as day, in Newquay. How the fuck did he get back there? Now the problem was getting a message to him. The NATO network had deteriorated to the extent it wasn’t reliable. All across Europe, soldiers and facilities were falling to the ever-growing infected hordes that were sweeping across the continent. This second virus infected much quicker than the first, whole cities falling to the plague in mere hours.

  And even if the Creator could contact him, how to get him out? It was feasible, of course, especially now that the quarantine was effectively over. That made his job slightly easier. But the quarantine was over because the whole world was aflame which made things significantly challenging. Of course, if anyone could do it, he could. There wasn’t a man or woman alive who knew this system as well as he did. Even the Quantum computers the system relied on were inferior in some regards to his borderline idiot-savant mind. He knew numbers, and he knew how to use and manipulate them. That’s what he did, that’s all he did, and he could think in the very language the computers used to communicate with each other. His only draw back was those computers didn’t smoke and they didn’t need sleep, he did. Stubbing out his cigarette, he picked another from its packet and held it to his lips as he lit it. Time to get this job done.

  10.18AM, 21st September 2015, Headland Hotel, Newquay

  “Captain, I think I’m getting something.” Phil had been promoted to radio operator because the one who had been doing the job when the general was still alive had been found in one of the hotel bedrooms with a hole through the back of his skull. And he hadn’t been the only suicide when the defences had fallen. There had been nearly a dozen last night.

  Hudson and O’Brian were pouring themselves coffee, and Hudson walked over to where the Army corporal was trying to tune into whatever it was that was being broadcast. Phil clicked on the computer monitor to record what was being broadcast.

  “….must…no…waste.”

  “It’s really choppy,” Phil said. Hudson picked up the radio’s microphone.

  “This is Captain Hudson of the Special Air Service. Who is this, over?”

  “…please listen to me very carefully, I don’t have…time…this communication will be cut shortly…have arranged extraction point at…repeat extraction at RAF Mawgan…will be available for the next 12 hours…not everyone…only some can…Croft…nuclear strike in 10 hours
…no time….Hangar 7…repeat Hangar 7.” The broadcast was filled with static, and much of what was said was broken and distorted. Phil tried to contact whoever it was that had relayed the message, but all he got was garbage. The two soldiers looked at each other, Hudson placing the microphone back down by the radio.

  “Lost it, sir,” Phil said.

  “O’Brian,” Hudson said. “Get me the major.”

  Croft listened to the recording, scratching his stubble coated chin.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Hudson said. “Whoever it was clearly mentioned you in it though, Croft.” Hudson took a sip of coffee that was fortunately still hot. “You’re not the Queen’s favourite cousin or something are you?”

  “Fuck no,” Croft said. “I grew up on a council estate. It must have been a NATO transmission.”

  “What do you make of it?” Hudson asked.

  “Well, if the corporal here is correct it came through on the coded frequency, and it has our confirmation codes.” Hudson looked at Phil who nodded his agreement.

  “It’s legit then,” Hudson stated.

  “Yes, and it’s an option we have to consider. They mentioned me by name and they mentioned nukes. I can only think they want to hit a large concentration of infected whilst they still can.” Croft looked at his watch. “Ten hours, it doesn’t give us much time.”

  “Can we even make it to Mawgan?” O’Brian asked. RAF Mawgan was part of Newquay Airport which, the last anyone had heard, was still holding out to the infected. Radio contact had been lost though.

  “We can load everyone up in the APCs and make a run for it. It’s less than eight miles,” Hudson said. “Normally, we could do that in around thirty minutes.”

  “Normally…” Croft said.

  Gavin had found the survivors. One of the things he had picked up from a sporting goods shop he had looted was a pair of binoculars which he now used to examine what the signpost had said was the Headland Hotel. Some part of his memory had recollection of someone mentioning that when everyone had left him. The room he had been kept in wasn’t soundproofed, and now that he was looking at it, he distinctly remembered someone saying they were heading there.