Call Me Human: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Sergei Marysh

  Hit a blind alley, then. Have to dig in a different direction.

  September 20, 20 —

  Having studied the maps and other paperwork from before the outbreak, I've discovered three possible locations of the shelter mentioned in the diary. All used to house bank branches and outlets. Many of them around, as this used to be a posh suburb once, but it's these three that are of interest to me, as they are located at the same distance from the installation as the one described in the diary.

  General N in charge of Bureau N agreed to assign to me a special-force group, twenty men and three dogs for three days. Should be more than enough. If the information in the diary is accurate, they'll be dealing with an old-age pensioner, a sick woman and an ex-serviceman. Should be adequate. Hopefully they won't even need to use force. Sent an officer with them to conduct negotiations.

  September 2, 20 —

  Took them twenty-four hours to explore all three banks as they had to move on foot and remain covert. Two of the buildings are destroyed and empty. Our guys seem to be in the third. The group commander reported that remote inspection of the building had confirmed the presence of living humans inside. Fiber-optic surveillance showed two men and a woman through the building windows. Bingo!

  Group commander radioed me for permission to detain them. He wanted to finish it quickly and use the remaining two days in order to relax. I didn't grant it. We're not arresting criminals, after all. Tomorrow morning my officer will enter the building, establish contact and convince them to follow him willingly to the installation. We only need special forces to make sure the three are sufficiently convinced.

  I've spoken to N, head of the biological defense group. He's given orders to have a special lab and an experts team by tomorrow, to receive this supposed Valentine character. If it goes through, very soon we'll have a working vaccine!

  September 22, 20 —

  Fucking idiots! A bunch of morons! The group commander forcibly removed my officer from command and conducted the mission on his own authority. Wonderful! As a result, the so-called old-age pensioner, our precious immunity carrier, is killed, the woman is wounded and detained, and the third one — apparently Alex — managed to escape.

  I'm not going to leave it like this! I'll demand the commander's arrest and an official investigation into the matter. Such vagaries can't be tolerated during a state of emergency. I suspect that General N had a hand in this. He's throwing spanners in my works because of what happened five years ago when I dismissed a Major N, a protégé of his, from office. And right I was, the Major was as thick as two planks and simply didn't cut it. The Personnel Commission agreed he wasn't up to the job. Still, General N thinks I did it on purpose, out of spite. Now he thinks he's made it even, while in fact he's done the dirt on all humanity. As if he cares about humanity: everybody knows his family was left outside the perimeter during the outbreak. But what am I now supposed to show to the lab guys?

  Spent an hour screaming at the group commander over the radio. Demanded the dead man's body to be delivered to the Installation. They wanted to sprinkle it with bleach and burn it — lazy bastards! He refused to obey my orders point blank. I had to telephone all the way to the top, to the Chief Deputy of Security Service. It worked — now they're running around like bloody cockroaches. The woman is in the sick bay, the body in the lab. Am writing a report on what's happened.

  September 23 20 —

  The lab chief keeps nagging at me all day. He's right, nothing to say about it, I should have conducted the detention myself instead of entrusting it to all these cutthroats. But it can't be helped: we have to work with what we've got. In the evening, he came to my office and reported about the autopsy results. He promised an official report by the morning. His report boils down to the following: the virus activity in the body is oppressed by unknown agents. According to him, they need a living body to find out more. See report for more details.

  September 24 20 —

  I'm struggling my way through all this medical abracadabra. The idea is clear, anyway. Supposedly, the body stops producing virus-suppressing antibodies in the state of death. When you fail, the main purpose of a report is to shift responsibility. But in a case like this, how can you separate objective causes of failure from attempts to exonerate oneself? I'm no doctor, I have no one to consult, the lab chief is the most recognized microbiologist around, one of the first who were delivered to the Installation. Not one of our medical top brass will dare challenge his conclusions.

  Isn't it ironic: this Valentine person intended to find a lab and serve science. Our lab is one of a kind — even before the outbreak there weren't many of them around. And he was a stone's throw away from it, only that thanks to those morons he never made it here alive.

  So! What do we have? Re: the diary writer's body, nothing. Re: Valentine character, ditto. That leaves the girl. She is not immune, therefore, no use to us. Still, we might need to investigate her, too, just to make sure we've tied up all the loose ends.

  September 27 20 —

  The girl seems to be getting better. Tests show she's not infected. So Bernik was wrong, then. Just as I thought. All these visionary claims of his are hallucination-induced BS.

  I was present at the questioning. We had to find an interpreter: she doesn't speak a word of Russian. Mary Claire Watson, British national, born in Manchester in 2034. Her story corroborates the diary. At first, she refused to discuss her relationship with Valentine. We had to turn to special interrogation methods to obtain this information.

  Her status and further presence at the Installation are currently being decided on. There are no grounds to justify the latter. Anyway, soon we won't need any to decide on her fate, seeing as those at the top intend to close Bernik's case. That leaves the English girl hanging in the air and me, responsible for it as her capture was all my initiative.

  October 3 20 —

  Bernik case is officially closed. I put the Watson girl down as detained until further orders. Seeing as she's clean, she won't face immediate liquidation. And then we'll see what to do with her.

  October 13, 20 —

  I thought I wouldn't have to open this file again, but — the repeat tests indicate the presence of the virus in the blood of M.C. Watson, British national detained until further orders. She has been moved to the prison block sick bay. This is the first incident when the virus got inside the perimeter, and apparently, it is all my fault. The top office is not amused. Nothing but trouble from this case, and no positive results whatsoever.

  They did get to the bottom of it, though. Apparently, the lab got the blood samples confused. The lab worker has been put under arrest, his further fate is being decided on.

  October 18, 20 —

  The infected woman has mutated and been liquidated as per instruction. Laboratory studies of both the living woman and her corpse didn't offer any new information that would help us understand the virus mechanisms. Just a regular zombie, one of the thousands already studied by our experts.

  November 1, 20 —

  The Bernik case just doesn't want to be archived, does it. My source in Interior Security Service overheard some rumors about an incident involving some of the prison guards. Not that it concerns me in any way, but seeing as they guarded the English girl, I asked him to get me more details.

  November 4 20 —

  My source got me more details of the prison incident. They have discovered a few cases of infection among prison guards. They were immediately detained and placed under arrest. The investigation showed that they all, at different times, guarded the prison block where the Watson girl was kept. Special interrogation methods had to be employed to have them admit they gang-raped the detained woman during their night shifts when the administration was absent. They claim they didn't know she was infected. This could be true as the information was classified, although one look at her was enough to see she'd mutated.

  Further investigation showed that all the guards on duty in the pri
son block — fifteen in total — took part in the rape. They have been arrested, and tests have shown the presence of the virus. All have been liquidated the same day as per instruction. The prison warden and his deputy are awaiting tribunal. Under different circumstances, we could sweep it all nicely under the carpet, but the prison block is located in the vicinity of Facility No 1 which houses the First Person, Family, and Cabinet members. In all likelihood, they are already aware of the incident. The big question is, who the informer was and what exactly he said to them. I can see heads rolling — most likely, mine included.

  November 6, 20 —

  All is quiet, at least on the surface. But the prison block keeps bringing bad news. My source says that all fifteen infected soldiers had numerous contacts within the perimeter. It doesn't deem possible to track them all down. Which makes it worse, all fifteen have been on kitchen duty so in theory, they could have contaminated three thousand people. The top office is in a state. We don't know whether the First Person has been informed, but something's brewing. You can't isolate and liquidate these numbers of well-armed, trained servicemen without anyone noticing. And once they know they're infected, you can forget their enlistment oaths.

  November 8, 20 —

  The worst has happened. The events followed the least healthy scenario. Within the last two days, dozens have mutated, if not hundreds. The staff are at their wits' ends. Our attempt to isolate the prison block has failed: the guards have mutinied, taken up the arms and are fighting even as I'm writing this. The First Person, Family and Cabinet took refuge underground in the antinuclear bunker. Logically, they have been informed about the state of affairs. I'm finished any way you look at it. Even if we manage to break the infection's back, I'll be quoted as the main culprit — there's no one else left to blame now that the prison warden and the rapists have all been liquidated.

  It's 20.05 now. The whole premises are in chaos. We are talking hundreds of infection victims, if not thousands. Shattering gunfire; buildings are burning. Lawns and pathways are barricaded with corpses. I am writing this from the bomb shelter under my office. The office has been wiped out by a tank volley. All I have on me is my service gun and the Bernik file. There are two fellow officers with me here, General N of Liaison Department and Colonel N, a deputy chief of something or other: he has a serious hip wound. The other office staff didn't survive the explosion. I don't think we were hit on purpose. Had to be friendly fire.

  General N is saying that, according to his sources, the bunker had its nuclear emergency security system initiated which has locked the gates and will open them again in twenty or thirty years or something like that. We're left without authority.

  It's five hours we've been in the shelter. Colonel N has bled to death although we bandaged his wound the best we could. Judging by the sounds overhead, the fighting seems to be cooling down. So this is the inglorious end of our Castle, all thanks to a bunch of horny pigs in the prison security unit!

  November 9, 20 —

  The fighting has ceased, replaced by a different kind of sound. Bernik was right: you can't confuse this howling with anything. I've opened the door a crack and had a peek at them. There're thousands. Everyone I used to work with all those years, they're either dead or mutated. They noticed me, but I slammed the door in their faces just in time. Now they know we're here. They try to break the door, screaming.

  We're trapped. We have no food, no water nor medications. There doesn't seem to be much here at all in this shelter: not even toilets. You'd think any normal facility would have them. Must have. There's another door here, but it's locked from the other side. I know: someone had gotten there before us and locked the door. Apparently, we're stuck in an empty lock room between the surface and the shelter per se. Both N and myself tried to call and bash on the door but no one opens it. We can't hear anything inside, either.

  November 11, 20 — .

  This nightmare has been going on for forty-eight hours now. All we hear is growling and the screeching of claws against the door. The inner door still doesn't give. Whoever it is behind it, he doesn't intend to open it for us.

  17.10. N has committed suicide. Before shooting himself, Colonel told me about a meeting he attended three days before the mutiny. His admission level allowed him access to these political briefings, as they called them. At the last meeting, they were briefed about the situation in the world: classified information, but who cares?

  This is what it looks like, as of today. Governments of some of the leading states — the USA, the UK, France, Russia, China and a few others, can't remember now which ones — have survived, albeit bereft of their population. Only the head offices survived, plus whatever nuclear craft they had out at sea at the time of the outbreak: submarines, aircraft carriers, battleships and icebreakers. All the governments sit in their bunkers just like ours does, snug as bugs, and conduct phone talks and teleconferences discussing current affairs and dividing deserted territories. Their most urgent discussion is whether they should reinstitute the UN and if so, who is to host their HQ. Occasionally, accidents happen and some of the discussing parties desert their ranks, the way it has just happened to us.

  November 13, 20 —

  It's been another forty-eight hours I've been sitting here with two corpses for company, listening to the howling and screeching outside. They're very welcome, the door won't give even if they keep on going for years. But I have no water here. The inside door is still locked. It's possible there's no one inside at all, it's possible it's just jammed. I've no idea what else I can do under these circumstances. As a Federal Guard and an officer, I can see only one way out. God have mercy of my soul!

  Epilogue

  Twelve Years Later

  "Class, you've been listening to Bernik's Diary. This is School Hour at Free Radio. Stay with us for more information about this unique first-hand account of humanity's battle against the zombie virus, the plague that very nearly wiped us off the face of this beautiful planet. The diary was discovered at a deserted military base that sheltered the last surviving authorities of the state that once existed in our area — as I'm sure you remember from our past lessons, it was called the Russian Federation.

  "This is Gennady Albamuth, the founder and voice of Free Radio. Today is the 20 April of the 12th year since the Last Day, it is 12.28 plus three Greenwich Time. If you're located in the Central and Western areas, you can tune into our programs, but I hope that other settlements get good reception, too. It's been a literature class from School Hour, and you've been listening to Bernik's Diary. When you grow up a little — when you're finally twenty — you can ask your parents for a full unabridged version of it, although I shouldn't if I were you. Not my kind of bedtime story, I tell you.

  "Now what would you say about a — a break? Ten minutes? Okay, fifteen minutes it is. Get your notebooks ready, your pens and pencils, your slate boards and coal sticks — whatever one has. If you have none of the above, my dears, then peel your little ears, and after the break we'll have an English class. Yes, I know, I know — no point in speaking English when there's no England left worth talking about, ditto for America, but — those of you who'll grow up to become brave explorers of the unknown areas and venture as far as Finland — remember our history lessons? — Sweden and Norway, or reach Poland, Hungary and Romania — of course you remember Romania, the birthplace of Dracula I spoke to you about at our last class — so! When you discover other settlements while exploring those vast and dangerous areas, how are you going to talk to people who live there? Which language are you going to use? Exactly! You'll need to speak English to them, the language of international communication. Or would you rather I gave you Finnish lessons? I'm not that cruel, my dears.

  "So back to our schedule. We have our English class now, followed by health and safety — and that's the most important subject of them all, my dears! Do you know that even ancient Greek children studied it in their ancient Greek schools — not even to mention the Roman ones! After
that we'll have a maintenance break until 18.00, and at 18.00 I'll be greeting your parents with our latest Settlement News, followed by Agricultural Life, where our special guest, a real expert agronomist from before the Outbreak, will tell your parents of the best ways to grow wheat crops. Today he'll speak about crop rotation, so make sure you don't miss it! And while I'm busy doing the maintenance, you'll have plenty of time to have your lunch and do your house- and homework. And you know the good news? — It's Friday! And you can look forward to a long, loooong weekend when you can do everything you please, as long as you listen to your Mom and Dad and don't venture out of your settlement perimeter. This will guarantee you a long and happy lifetime with Free Radio!

  "This was Gennady Albamuth in the studio of Free Radio, and you've been listening to the School Hour, our radio lessons for those of our children whose settlements don't have a school yet — yet being the operative word. Silence, class — as promised, this is your break, all fifteen minutes of it, just don't be late! Specially for our English class, this is Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, a wonderful song from Monty Python — surely I don't need to explain to you who they were? — written by Eric Idle... there we go!

  And...always look on the bright side of life...

  Always look on the light side of life...

  For life is quite absurd

  And death's the final word

  You must always face the curtain with a bow.