by Chris Harris
Instead, the unknown virus entered the scientist’s bloodstream and encountered the genetically engineered rhinovirus. The rhinovirus attached itself to the invading virus, but instead of neutralising it, it altered itself. The new mutated virus was never given a name. In the few weeks it took for it to wreak devastation on the human race, the few survivors had more important things to worry about.
After another hour’s work, the scientists finished up and went to the hotel in the nearby village where they would be staying until the contract was completed. They ate their evening meal together, and after a few drinks in the bar they all retired for the evening.
Vladimir was too excited to sleep. He lay on his bed, his mind racing. He was a millionaire, with more money than he’d ever dreamed of. By nature a selfish man, any thoughts about the others and his obligation to complete the work went out of the window.
Why was he wasting his time in this backwater of a town, when he could be living the life he deserved with a pretty girl on his arm? His mind made up, he reached for his tablet computer and checked the flights from the local airport. There was a flight to Moscow first thing in the morning and from Moscow, within hours, he would be in one of the major transport hubs of Europe. By the following day he could be anywhere in the world.
Twenty minutes later, the flight to Moscow was booked. In Moscow he would have a two hour wait for his flight to Heathrow. He hadn’t thought any further than that, but figured it would be simple enough to book a hotel for a day or two and plan the rest of his life. He was looking forward to taking things easy from now on.
Quickly, he packed his belongings, threw his bag on to the backseat of his car and drove off to catch his flight. As he drove along he suddenly sneezed. He grinned to himself, thinking: Well at least I won’t be coming down with a cold. That’d really put a dampener on things! Must be the dust.
Inside him the virus was behaving very strangely. It wasn’t spreading rapidly around his body. Each time it reproduced, it mutated slightly, but it was only reproducing enough to enable it to survive, not to affect its host too much. Like some predatory creature, it was biding its time.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was only after breakfast the next morning that Vladimir’s colleagues discovered he was gone. Thinking that he’d overslept, they knocked on his door, entered his room and found it empty. Back in the hotel reception the night porter overheard them talking about him and confirmed that he had seen him drive off in his car hours ago.
Their first thoughts were that some family emergency might have called him away, leaving him no time to inform the rest of them. But it wasn’t long before their suspicions were aroused. They were all aware of his new found wealth and most of them resented the fact that he had thought of volunteering first.
Following a hastily convened meeting, the scientists decided to err on the side of caution and wait to see if Vladimir contacted them. They had no wish to antagonise their employer, so they agreed to wait at least twenty four hours before taking any action. Having come to a decision, they returned to the laboratory to continue fabricating test data.
As the ageing Russian jet heaved itself into the sky, Vladimir smiled to himself. He had only just made the flight in time and had been forced to abandon his car in the passenger drop off area and sprint to the check in desk. He didn’t care; he wasn’t going to need that clapped out car again anyway.
He was feeling slightly hot and flushed, but attributed it to the dash through the airport to get to the gate. The flight had left on time so he would have plenty of time to catch his next flight when he arrived in Moscow. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to rush anywhere again for the rest of his life.
An hour into the short two and a half hour flight, Vladimir was still feeling slightly feverish. He dismissed it, putting it down to a night without sleep and over excitement. He sneezed again. Tiny droplets of fluid sprayed from his mouth and nose and spread out in an invisible cloud, covering anyone in close proximity with a microscopic layer of virus-filled moisture. The air-conditioning system did the rest, sucking up the droplets and distributing them efficiently around the packed plane. Not everyone was infected, it was purely a matter of chance. But by the time the plane had reached its destination, over eighty five percent of the passengers were playing host to the mutated virus. It continued its silent journey inside their bodies, still developing but not yet ready to reveal itself to an unsuspecting world. Not just yet.
More than half the passengers on the flight, Vladimir included, were transiting through Moscow Airport and would shortly be scattering to all points of the globe. They all made straight for their relevant departure lounges to await their next flights. The rest collected their luggage, left the airport and made their way to their final destinations. They were picked up by friends or relatives, collected their own cars or made use of the highly efficient public transport system Moscow was so famous for. More than eighty five percent of them had unknowingly become carriers for the deadly virus, spreading it with every breath, cough or touch.
Vladimir and the seventy other passengers who were waiting for their next flights were heading for twenty different airports in thirteen different countries. Some of them, like Vladimir, would be continuing their journey on a third flight.
By now the virus was spreading from Vladimir and his fellow carriers to many of the other passengers waiting for flights in the departure lounge.
If anyone had realised at the time, all the passengers could have been isolated and the virus might have been stopped in its tracks. The threat of infection from the people who had left the airport might also have been contained, or at least controlled.
But once all the passengers had dispersed and continued on their respective journeys the damage was done: the virus would now multiply exponentially, which is the reason why experts on infectious diseases break into a cold sweat at the thought of international air travel.
Prediction models have been produced by those same experts, showing how one single infected subject could, given the right conditions, infect the majority of the world’s population in a very short space of time. The problem was, it was not just one subject now. With almost single minded efficiency, the virus had infected almost everyone who had come into contact with it.
A few hours later, Vladimir boarded a British Airways flight to London. Having been the first person infected, he was showing more signs that the others and was starting to feel lousy. Over the course of the four hour flight his condition deteriorated, developing rapidly into full blown flu-like symptoms. His body ached all over and he fluctuated between burning up and experiencing uncontrollable shivering fits. The flight attendants could see that he was ill, but accepted his explanation that it was just a cold that had come on during the morning. They offered him an empty row of seats to sit in, so as not to concern the other passengers, and gave him a few blankets to make him more comfortable. He’d already booked a room at an airport hotel, hoping to have a nice meal and get an escort to celebrate his new found status in style. But now all he wanted to do was get to his hotel room and sleep. He was too sick to question what was happening to him or why.
Disembarking at Heathrow, he didn’t bother to collect his bag. It only contained clothes and he could easily replace them. Having passed through Customs, he staggered to the bus stop and waited for the shuttle bus that would take him to his hotel.
The virus had been genetically modified for one purpose: to neutralise the one threat to its existence, the rhinovirus. When it had come into contact with the unknown virus from the mosquito bite, a fault in its painstaking programming had emerged. It had encountered a virus with enough similarities in its genetic code to cause a mutation. The two codes had combined to form a new and lethal virus.
The new virus had just one purpose: to replicate and spread. The human immune system is a remarkable thing and under normal circumstances, once a virus has been detected, it will dispatch an army of defender cells, known as lymphocytes, to overpo
wer and disable the invader.
This virus was new; Vladimir’s lymphocytes were attacked and changed with devastating effect. They, in their turn, eliminated their only threat: the part of the brain responsible for activating the immune system. Without an effective immune system to protect it, the virus rampaged through the delicate brain, causing catastrophic damage to the frontal lobe and thereby removing any capacity for experiencing conscious thought or emotions. Other crucial parts of the brain were also affected. In essence, everything that was responsible for making Vladimir human, was obliterated. At the same time, a virus is only able to survive in a living, ‘healthy’ host. It made sure of its own survival. The parts of the brain associated with breathing remained intact, so that the cells could continue to receive oxygen. The part of the brain associated with hunger remained untouched, ensuring that the body would seek food in order to survive and the virus would receive enough energy to reproduce.
The virus had almost run its course and exploded throughout Vladimir’s body. Struggling to remain conscious he almost fell from the bus and staggered into the hotel foyer. Halfway across the foyer he fell to his knees, vomited up the entire contents of his stomach, and collapsed on to the tiled floor.
As Vladimir lay convulsing on the floor in a pool of his own vomit, most people recoiled and stepped back, but a few staff and guests hurried forward to try to help him. The hotel receptionist phoned for an ambulance and then put out a call for the first-aider on duty to come to reception immediately.
One of the guests, who had been about to leave for the airport with her husband and children, came forward and explained that she was a nurse. She placed him in the recovery position and set about checking his breathing and vital signs. His breathing was shallow, and his vital signs weak, but he was alive. As the first-aider arrived, the nurse stayed by his side to help until the ambulance turned up. After handing over to the paramedics, she apologised and explained that she needed to leave or she would miss her flight. She washed her hands, teeming with virus, in the washbasin in the ladies’ toilets and then hurriedly left with her family, another virus carrier created.
By now Vladimir was in a deep state of unconsciousness, his brain all but destroyed by the virus. He was destined never to experience another conscious thought. Now his brain would give him only the most basic abilities and instructions. He was able to breathe, to move and to eat. His sole function would be to identify and move towards a food source. The virus inside him could no longer be spread by coughing and sneezing, and now passed through to the final stage of its transformation. From now on, in order to be transmitted to another host, it would require contact with a different bodily fluid.
Their blood.
A few moments later, what was left of Vladimir’s brain began to function again. Had he possessed the ability to understand language, he would have heard the paramedic saying, ‘He’s coming round, support his head.’
All his brain registered was noise.
His empty stomach transmitted an overwhelming sensation of hunger to his brain.
His eyes opened. He could see but he couldn’t recognise individuals or objects. His brain was now at its most basic and primal stage of evolution. It was only capable of distinguishing between what was a food source and what was not.
The paramedic leant in closer to examine him. Vladimir emitted a low noise, part groan, part growl, grabbed the unfortunate paramedic by the head and bit deeply into his neck. The urge to feed was overpowering.
Pandemonium broke out.
It was Zombie Apocalypse Day One.
Before too long thousands of people would be starting to sneeze and the same thought would be running through their minds: Oh no, I think I’ve caught a cold!
CHAPTER SIX
It was a perfect day on Chapel Porth beach. The light breeze felt pleasantly warm in the hot sun and the waves were just the right size for Stanley and Daisy to enjoy bodyboarding without worrying us. I’d spent the last few hours in the surf with them, but now deemed them competent enough to be allowed a bit of freedom so I returned to Becky, who was sunning herself on a rug on the warm sand.
Ok, I’ll admit that the thought of the nice cold beer I had in the cool box had tempted me out of the water. I made sure she was awake by placing my ice cold can of lager on her bare back as I sat down next to her. She screamed and jumped up, ready to fight whoever had dared to wake her up. After I’d defended myself from a few playful slaps, she eventually calmed down and saw the funny side. She grabbed a drink out of the cool box and sat next to me, so that we could chat and keep an eye on the kids.
My name is Tom and I live in Moseley, a suburb of Birmingham, with my wife Becky, and my two kids, Stanley and Daisy. We were spending a few weeks of the children’s school holidays visiting the beauty spots of Cornwall in our touring caravan. The usually fickle and unpredictable British weather had been kind to us, and we’d spent the previous week on Cornwall’s beautiful southern coast, pottering around on boats, fishing (unsuccessfully) and visiting the many pretty villages the region is known for, before moving on to the more rugged northern coast, better known for surfing and tin mines.
It was turning out to be a memorable holiday. The kids were having a great time and hadn’t yet reached that bored stage where they were likely to start bickering and falling out. The weather was great and we were all sporting golden tans from being out in the sun all day long. Becky and I were happy because the area was full of great places to eat, which saved all the rigmarole of cooking and cleaning that can sometimes take the edge off a holiday.
What could be better than having a lovely meal, returning to the campsite, and sharing a bottle (or two) of wine, while the children played with their new found friends? Most evenings were spent reading, watching the sun go down and gazing out at the Wheal Coates tin mine, starkly beautiful in the fading light.
The clamour of children’s voices disturbed my peace and I looked up from my Kindle to see Stanley, Daisy and a group of their friends approaching. I remembered that I’d promised them all an ice cream. It looked as if they were coming to collect.
‘I’ll go and get them,’ I said, grinning at Becky, and stood up to get the box of ice creams out of the freezer in the caravan.
As I was distributing them, the father of one of the children saw what I was doing and walked over to thank us both. We stood and chatted for a while and then I remembered my manners and offered him a drink and a seat.
He sat down with a glass of wine and introduced himself. His name was Chris and he was on holiday with his wife and ten year old son. They had a nice looking motorhome on the other side of the field so we spent the first few minutes chatting about the pros and cons of caravans versus motorhomes. A little snigger from Becky stopped us.
‘Just listen to you two! Tom, you sound like an old man; you must be boring poor Chris to death because I’m certainly losing the will to live!’
Chris laughed and of course, denied any such thing. The conversation moved on to the kind of topics you tend to discuss with people you’re passing the time with on holiday but know full well you probably won’t be seeing again. In typical British fashion the weather was commented on. Then abruptly, Chris changed the subject.
‘Did you see the news tonight?’ he asked.
‘No, we were out. Anything interesting?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not much. It must have been a slow news day because they reported a cannibal attack at an airport hotel!’ he replied with a grin. ‘It sounded as if two blokes had a fight and one bit the other to me. I guess as there wasn’t much else going on, they felt they had to make it sound more dramatic.’
Chris’s wife came over to see where her husband had disappeared to and naturally we invited her to join us. We spent a further pleasant hour, drinking and chatting, and then it was time to get the children to bed as we were in danger of losing them in the rapidly descending darkness.
Once the children were settled into their cosy bunk
beds, we went back outside and finished our drinks. As Wi-Fi was available on the campsite, I reached for my phone and began checking my emails, deleting any junk messages. Remembering what Chris had said about the cannibal attack, I did a quick search out of idle curiosity.
I navigated my way to the main news websites and tapped in the word ‘cannibal’. This brought up a few reports about an incident at a Heathrow Airport hotel in which a number of people, including two paramedics who had been attending at an emergency, had been treated for severe bite injuries.
On one of the websites I found a link to some video footage of the event. The footage was shaky and unclear as it had been taken on a mobile phone; in fact it didn’t show anything much apart from screaming people pushing and shoving each other in a bid to escape from something.
Not giving it another thought, I put my phone on charge and we both went to bed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Starting with Vladimir Petrov and his colleagues, the infection rate had doubled at every stage of the virus’s rapid progress. From the initial one hundred and fifteen infected on Vladimir’s first flight from the Ukraine to Moscow, the number was now in the tens of thousands, and growing by the second. It would shortly be affecting millions, as it spread outwards like an unstoppable tide from most major airports. In spite of being the first place affected, the isolated outbreak at a small Black Sea coastal town went largely unnoticed. It was a small town, separated by the marshes and miles of road from its nearest neighbour.
Few people visited the resort now that the base had closed down, so the fact that within twelve hours of Vladimir leaving, the entire town had become a mass graveyard and was crawling with zombies would never be known. Had Vladimir not left, the virus might not have spread far. The government might have discovered the outbreak and although more people would have been infected from bites, a quarantine zone could have been established and under conditions of strict secrecy and a complete media blackout, the problem could have been quietly eradicated, leaving the government scientists with the problem of what to do with a virus which had become a potential weapon.